


The Neighborhood

by AceofSpeight



Series: The Neighborhood [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Coming Out, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Explicit Language, F/M, Family Issues, Female Pidge | Katie Holt, Filipino Hunk, Gen, Japanese Shiro (Voltron), Korean Keith (Voltron), M/M, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Writing Exercise, Written as a TV Show, go ahead, soundtrack, wiggles eyebrows and dances seductively, you'll laugh at least once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 14:31:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 69,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11359401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceofSpeight/pseuds/AceofSpeight
Summary: Lance comes out as gay to his family. Things don’t go so well from there.Now he’s living with his best friend since the third grade Keith "Asshole" Kogane-Lee, and things now? Yeah, they’re going just great.Thanks for asking.





	1. A Warm Welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The One Where Lance Moves In With Keith

“So like, you’re out?”

“I mean, I guess. Like I told my parents and they kicked me out of the fucking house,” Lance said, taking a sip of his Bud Lite. Keith wrinkled his nose at Lance’s bad taste but was far too used to his likes to say anything.

“Forever? A week? An hour?”

Lance scoffed into the can. “They didn’t exactly specify when they were running me out with a broom calling me a pinche puto.”

“What did you fucking say?"

Lance stared at him, eyes comically wide and glistening with unsolicited innocence. “What did I say? I mean, I told them I might be gay, I don’t know okay! I mean, I don’t even know that I’m gay. Like I might’ve sucked off a guy in the bathroom of a Chick-Fil-A, but does that make me gay? Maybe?”

Keith took the last dregs of his beer, and now it was Lance’s turn to crinkle his nose. Keith preferred flavored beers and today he’d chosen a watermelon infused IPA. Whatever, Lance fucking drank  _Bud Lite,_  he was no one to judge.

“Okay first let’s address the fact that you definitely said that to your parents. You told them you were trashy enough to blow a guy in a chicken fast food joint? Not only that, but an _anti-gay_ one? The fuck, Lance? 

Lance shrugged, small smile on his lips. “I mean, it’s a little fucking poetic, right?”

Keith snorted. “Yeah, and that’s exactly why you did it.” He turned the bottle between his hands and Lance keened on his own behalf.

“Okay Kogane Lee, don’t get preachy on me. You’re the one who suggested we get  _watermelon-infused_ IPA with our  _fake IDs_  at a goddamn  _Circle K_ on a Thursday.” He paused, hands fanned out gesturing at the gas station convenience store. “We are sitting on the edge of a fucking gas station where I am so certain that dude is doing meth in his car behind the bathrooms  _on a Thursday._ ”

“Fuck you,” Keith said without any heat. He rolled the bottle down the cement and thought about leaning back on the cold ground before thinking better. He leaned against Lance instead, who took another sip of his crummy beer and dropped his shoulder to accommodate Keith’s head.

“Your hair smells like shit,” Lance said. Keith smiled and said nothing, only burrowing the crown of his head further into Lance, roughly. “Aye que mierda, carajo. Your head is fucking heavy.”

“Your balls are heavy.”

Lance laughed, jolting Keith’s head off his shoulder but Keith smiled groggily anyway. Lance had a nice laugh, even if he was a total dumbass. Now that was gay.

“That’s so stupid, who the fuck taught you that phrase?”

“I’m pretty sure you did,” Keith retorted and Lance laughed again, curling over Keith and laughing into his lap.

“Yeah, that does sound like something I would say.” Lance took a deep inhale and as he let out his breath he dropped himself completely into Keith’s lap. Keith let him, and leaned his own hands back onto the dirty cement, questionable stains be damned.

Lance mumbled something into Keith’s jeans and Keith frowned. “Huh?” he asked.

“I said,” Lance said irritably. “I don’t fucking know where I’m going to sleep tonight.”

Keith shoved Lance’s shoulder, “Dude you can stay with me. Fuck your parents. They don’t let you do anything fun anyway, I don’t know why you’re upset anyway.”

Lance twisted his head and stared up at Keith.

“Whoa wait, seriously? I get to see your place? The Juvie Den?”

Keith rolled his eyes. “It’s not a Juvie Den.”

“Both you _and_ Shiro have been to juvie. Pidge is on her way, she’s just smarter than you, which is why she hasn’t been caught.”

Keith mumbled something unintelligible under his breath, but he wasn’t too insulted. Katie was the best of the best when it came to cover ups.

“You want a place to crash or not?”

Lance sprung up. His body flopped around a bit as he stood. He was so tall and skinny, combined with the beer he kind of looked like one of those air monsters in front of used car lots. Keith laughed out loud at the thought, a quick short burst of giggles.

“You mean it?” Lance asked, practically hyperventilating in excitement. “I mean, yeah I need a place and you got a place and I need a place—”

“Yeah I get it. Hold your horses, let me just call Shiro and have him pick us up,” Keith said, fishing his phone from his pocket. It was one in the morning, but no doubt Shiro was still awake and studying.

It took a moment to get the confirmation Shiro was on his way before Keith realized Lance had been talking the whole time at breakneck speed.

“—to get me to fall asleep but no worries bro I don’t hog the covers or like if you want me to sleep in Shiro’s bed with Shiro or like if we all have to share the same bed I mean I’m super skinny I take up no room so like I could just squeeze between you guys and you’d never know I was there,” he continued without stopping to breathe.

“Yeah except I’d notice the giant boner you have for my brother sticking in my back.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Fuck you, the dude is _hot_  and he’s not even your real brother don’t even tell me you haven’t had thoughts about those biceps. I could make love to those biceps.”

“Yeah,” Keith said dryly. “You’re definitely fucking gay.”

Lance had been about to say something, when his face fell a bit. He looked a little older under the lights of the convenience store. Keith was sure he should care more, that his friend and frenemy since the third grade had been turned out from his home, from his giant family who’d rejected him for something Keith thought was as relevant to a person’s morality as having hands.

But in truth, Keith thought Lance was better off, and adding another runaway to their little gang wasn’t an idea he totally hated.

Shiro pulled up and Keith automatically went to the front passenger seat before Lance blew past him and hopped inside before he could say “Mississippi Murder.”

Keith rolled his eyes and opened the door to the back seat, sitting down and buckling his seatbelt while Lance was already knee deep in some half-made-up story, while Shiro blinked away sleep and partly tried to keep up.

“Lance shut up, you’re so fucking loud,” Keith complained from the back. Lance flipped him off while continuing to gregariously ingratiate himself to Keith’s foster brother. Lance was such a fucking dick sometimes.

They were only a few minutes away, but Keith still managed to nod off twice during the ride. Lance was still talking even as they made their way up to the house.

Keith stepped over weeds—Pidge’s fault—and stubbed out cigarettes—Shiro’s fault—and nearly stumbled over his bike—he’d blame Lance for that just for the fuck of it—and opened the door.

He didn’t really notice but Lance had finally stopped talking in favor of staring at the whole house, complete with adult-free and unregulated living. His eyes practically sparkled as he saw the mountain of unwashed dishes in the sink and the clothes strewn in piled over every piece of furniture.

Shiro might’ve kept Pidge and Keith fed, but a Molly Maid he was not.

Lance was nearly silent as he covered the house with his curiousity. He wasn’t shy at all as he made his way into the kitchen, familiarizing himself with the layout and checking into every cupboard. He went into the hallway and was even fascinated by the blank walls covered in various stains Keith had not even the slightest what they were.

Shiro was long gone, had flopped onto his bed and began snoring before hitting the pillow, and Lance popped his head into his room and took a look around.

“Holy shit,” Lance whispered. “Shiro is the messiest goddamn dude I’ve ever seen. That is like an Everest of clothing. Is it clean? Is it for the wash? That’s him snoring? Shit he could blow the house down, caramba goddamn.”

Keith grabbed hold of his arm and pushed him away from the room, shutting the door not-so-quietly since Shiro could sleep through a hurricane. He shoved Lance in the direction of the bathroom and grabbed two toothbrushes from nearby the sink. He handed one to Lance and for his own, without even putting any toothpaste on it, Keith began to scrape the brush over his teeth.

Lance blinked, mouth gaping and horrified. “Holy fuck, are you kidding me? Gingivitis is going to be all up in there if you don’t use some damn Colgate,” he admonished.

Keith shrugged. He was a little tipsy but mostly really tired.

Lance frowned at the toothbrush. “Dude...is this used?!” Lance was entirely too loud and Keith knew it was a matter of minutes before Pidge came out and leveled the house with her fury. She often stayed up well into the early hours but she prefered the silence of the night, minus Shiro’s snoring, which, trust him, multiple attempts had been made to quiet Shiro’s grandpa snores to no avail.

Keith gave Lance The Look and Lance rolled his eyes. He stared at the toothbrush and shook his head. He reached for the toothpaste instead and put it on his finger, which he then used to brush his teeth thoroughly. Weirdly thorough, if Keith was being honest, as he watched Lance use his fingernails to scrape between his teeth and massage his gums.

“Loser,” Keith mumbled over his toothbrush.

“Skank,” Lance retorted without looking.

Keith smiled.

Keith left the bathroom while Lance puttered around a little more, informing Keith without being asked that he was looking for some washing-toner-moisture what the fuck Keith didn’t give two shits.

He crashed into his bed and when he woke up it was nearly noon, and the sun was way too bright in his room.

The fuck were his blinds doing up? And the window was open? There was a fucking breeze in his room? And it smelled. It smelled like.

Oranges? Fuck? 

Keith groaned and rolled over. He shut his eyes and tried to will himself back to sleep, but now he could hear the humming going on outside his door, getting louder and quieter as it moved about the house.

He could hear Shiro’s voice through the walls, then a laugh, then some mumbling from Pidge.

Well, whole house was up. MIght as well join the gang of terrors, Keith thought as he punched his pillow and rubbed his eyes harshly from sleep.

He exited his room to come face-to-face with Lance, who looked like a picture from a cover of some cleaning lady magazine. He was wearing latex yellow gloves, an apron, and sandals while holding a bucket, a mop covered in suds and he was even wearing a goddamn kerchief over his head.

“Morning fuckface,” he sing-songed at Keith. “Done sleeping the day away?” 

“I hate you,” Keith said, but it came out more like “mhaaaaaooou,” since he was still sleepy. He was never a morning person. He ducked his head and made his way to the kitchen, nearly tripping when there was nothing for him to trip on. His eyes were still focusing through all the new sunshine and light streaming through  _every damn open window jesus_  but he could see the floor was clean, except for a few piles here and there in the corner.

Was he in an episode of the Twilight Zone? Where was he? Was he still Keith Kogane?

The only thing he knew for certain was Lance was definitely too chipper for someone who should have a hangover for drinking 12 Bud Lites in front of a gas station the night before. Motherfucking metabolism, Keith cursed.

Keith sat at the kitchen table and stared at the large plate of toast accompanied with peanut butter—that was probably two years old but food doesn’t expire when it’s in plastic, everyone knows this—jam, butter and cinnamon.

Crumbs littered the table around Shiro, who was back to studying, hovering over his giant GED testing book and scribbling in the margins. He had a piece of toast between his teeth, which was slowly dropping as he continued writing.

“Dude you’re going to get jam like, all over that book. Finish your fucking toast,” Pidge said between bites of her own. She’d gone for butter and jam, and Keith was two seconds away from throwing the entire table out the window.

Lance comes over for  _one night_ and suddenly they have a fucking Mom. Some bullshit this was.

“Lance,” he shouted, and Lance’s head dipped out from the door of the bathroom. Keith could hear the faucet running and for some reason it was really pissing him off. “Could you come here please?”

“Dude I’m like, in the middle of scrubbing this floor. The fuck you need? There was a bug in the nutella so don’t even ask about it I threw it out.”

“That was—just throw out the bug not the whole fucking jar!”

Lance wrinkled his nose. “Okay, intervention needed. That’s gross. You’re gross. Bye.” His head popped back behind the doorframe and Keith growled, sticking his face in his hands. 

“Can he stay?” asked Pidge as she nibbled on her breakfast. “It’s nice not having to trip over your goddamn freaky knife collection and then bleeding out all over your freaky outdated Nike basketball shoes.”

“Fuck you those are vintage,” Keith said as he took a large bite of his dry toast. It tasted like regret, he thought dramatically while Pidge ignored him and finished off her toast. She took her plate to the sink, hesitated, and then washed it and propped it up carefully on the counter to dry.

Keith nearly died. Pidge, cleaning her dishes. What the fuck was the world coming to. 

“Okay, that’s it!” Keith slammed his hands on the table and Shiro and Pidge looked at him as he walked a little crookedly to the bathroom. They eyed each other and shrugged. Whatever was happening would be over soon anyway.

Keith entered the bathroom and nearly slipped on the clean tiles. He hopped over Lance, to his friend’s cries of “fuck off the floor isn’t dry yet!” and sat down on the edge of the tub.

Which was spick and span, holy shit.

“Lance,” Keith asked through gritted teeth. “What. The fuck. Areyoudoing?”

“Cleaning?” Lance asked, confusion apparent on his face. He had no idea why Keith was red in the face and panting, and he was looking at Keith with mild concern. “Like that tub was fucking black dude.” Lance went back to scrubbing the floor then paused, and looked up at Keith with a tilted head. “Did you know literally all of the clothes you own make up half of one load in the washing machine?”

That was the straw the broke the camel’s back.

“Goddammit Lance I said you can stay the night not fucking—” he threw his hands up and gesticulated wildly, “—rearrange my fucking life! What is this, why are fucking cleaning?”

“I woke up and thought—” Lance blushed, squeezing the scouring sponge tightly between his fingers and getting blackened dirty water on the spot he’d just cleaned. “—I thought it’d be the decent fucking thing to do. Fuck dude, I was just—”

“ _Not thinking_ ,” Keith yelled. Lance looked wholly embarrassed and cowed but Keith wasn’t done. “You can’t just come into someone’s house and  _take over and shit_. You don’t fucking live here, this isn’t where you belong!”

The moment the words came out of his mouth, he’d regretted them.

For half a second Lance looked like he’d been slapped. The next his face was stone cold and he was putting away the cleaning supplies, folding his gloves and placing them on the counter.

“Whatever, dude,” Lance said, voice neutral. If there was anything in life that could stun Keith Kogane it was a dead-faced Lance. “See you around.”

Keith wanted to run after him and smack him around a bit. He was just so pissed off, and not thinking clearly, and so many other things, but he couldn’t get up off the tub. He called out Lance’s name, but there was no response.  

Or rather, all Keith heard was the slamming of the screen door.

Keith rubbed a hand over his face, keeping in the groan because he didn’t want Pidge and Shiro to know how much of an asshole he knew he was, not yet anyway. He looked over at the newly clean sink and saw a series of toothbrushes lined up. Shiro’s black one was to the left, and beside it was Pidge’s green. Keith’s red to the right, and beside it was a new blue toothbrush. Apparently among all the other cleaning things Lance had bought sometime that morning, he’d also bought himself a toothbrush for their place.

Keith groaned as loud as he could. Everyone could know he knew he was an asshole now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Space Dad snores. Deal with it.
> 
>  
> 
> For the first song in the playlist, [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b0l3QWUXVho).


	2. A Troubled Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The One Where Lance Meets Hunk (and Gram-gram)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Hunk_ <3

Lance got as far as Keith’s hedges before he realized he had nowhere to go.

He jerked to a stop and then faltered, nearly twisting his ankle in the process. He wanted to scream but he was in the middle of the sidewalk and he could hear kids nearby. And despite whatever kind of asshole he was, he wasn’t the kind to make a scene in front of kids. He walked past the overgrown hedges, to where if Keith looked out the window he wouldn’t be able to see him, and sat down on the curb.

He felt pretty confident no one was going to come search for him. Might as well chill on the cold and lonely sidewalk while trails of children’s laughter breezed through him as though he were a sad ghost.

Lance ignored the itching behind his eyes and held his chin in his folded hands. He felt like such a sack of shit, rejected and alone, and he didn’t even know _why_.

Maybe Lance was gay. Maybe it was a phase, his mom had started, while his dad had screamed bloody murder. Lance shouted back to whatever nonsense his dad had been spouting and before he knew it, several candles of Guadalupe were being hurled at his head. He ran out of the house, his mom’s cries ringing in his ears, and shaky fingers had dialed Keith’s number, one of the few outside his own family he had stored in his phone.

And now he was here, with one less person he was able to call.

Lance took in a deep breath and put a hand on each knee, straightening his back. Well, he might have nowhere to go, but staying here wasn’t a fucking option. He wasn’t just going to wait until Keith suddenly decided he was worth having around again.

He’d figure something out.

“Psst.”

Lance startled, looking around him and putting a little too much spin in his turn, causing him to fall on one arm.

“Psst, over here,” came the voice again, and Lance swung his head back at an owlish 180 degree angle, to meet the eye of a giant dude about his age, hunkered down in the bushes, hands cupped around his mouth as he called to Lance in a loud whisper.

“Uh, yeah?” Lance asked, turning around and picking himself up, brushing off his knees.

“Are you, like, are you okay?” The dude asked. Lance sized him up. He wasn’t much taller than Lance, but he was a lot broader and a lot bigger. He looked like he could crush a watermelon with his nose, and rip a tire open with his teeth.

Lance opened his mouth to respond when the guy talked over him.

“I mean, I’m not supposed to talk to strangers because my Gram-gram thinks  _they_ —” he jerked his head into the direction of Keith’s house “—are drug dealers and hooligans but like I saw you come out of there and I know you’re not from around here but you looked really upset just now and I just. Wanted. Wanted to see if you were all right.”

Lance _wanted_ to mock the guy for being a giant pussy who listened to his “gram-gram” and came out to see if grown-ass boys were “okay” when said grown-ass boy probably looked like he was about to cry. He could also make fun of the dude for trying to hide in bushes that were smaller than he was and he _could_ make fun of the way his big brown eyes seemed to curve in concern over someone he didn’t know.

But instead, Lance pushed aside the same machismo that had thrown him out of not one, but two houses.

A kind stranger was asking if he was okay. Fucking Christo, it was something Lance wanted to hold onto for the day.

“I’m—” Lance started before a slam of the door sounded, interrupting him yet again.

The kind dude who’d asked after him jumped about a foot in the air and scrambled, holding his hands to his chest over his heart. They both looked toward the doorway and saw a small, older than _fuck_ lady standing under the threshold, holding what looked like ten pounds of uncooked meat.

Holy shit, Lance thought to himself.

“You!” she yelled from across her yard. The boy in front of Lance took a step back and looked worriedly from his Gram-gram to Lance, as if sensing the end was nigh and not sure if he was supposed to watch or run from the carnage.

Lance pointed to himself. “Me?”

Gram-gram spat on the ground. She was terrifying. “Come here!”

Lance walked past the boy, who followed closely behind him. A minute ago Lance would’ve mocked him for it, but Lance was near tempted to hide behind him given the Eye the lady was directing his way. 

When Lance had made his way up to the doorstep, he paused, and waited for instruction. He was a little out of his league here. He would never disrespect his own grandma, but she was a mostly passive presence in his household. This lady was the goddamn Mother of Dragons. 

“I saw you slip out of the house at six in the morning,” she said, sounding like she was eating a meal she disliked. “You came back with a mop.”

There was a silence and Lance felt a poke to his back, prompting him to respond. “Y-Yes ma’am.”

Gram-gram frowned harder. “You walked all the way to the store and back with a mop. Why?”

“My,” he said, his throat drying out. “I wanted to clean my friends’ place.”

“Friends?” she asked warily.

He nodded. “They let me stay the night. Since I can’t go—”

He stopped mid-sentence and wanted to smack himself over the head. He couldn’t just go around telling strangers he wasn’t allowed in his own home now.

“You can’t go home? Why?” she asked, filling in the blanks. “What have you done? Bought drugs from these hooligans?”

Lance tried not to glare. “I don’t do drugs.”

The lady scoffed. “Doesn’t do drugs he says. Then why would your family not let you in their home? When you have such manners as calling me ‘ma’am’ and cleaning your friend’s home? Hmm?”

“I might be gay,” the words just. Popped out?

“Gay?” she asked, one eye widening as she leaned forward. “Gay?!”

Lance grit his teeth and wondered how it was that he’d been kicked out of two homes and was now being shouted at by an old lady he didn’t even know. What the fuck was his life, even?

“Being gay is no reason to throw a son out on the streets,” she clicked her tongue and Lance’s nearly lolled out of his head. “Not cleaning his room, yes, not getting good grades, yes, having sex with a Japanese, yes—” Lance heard the small squeak of embarrassment behind him, “—but being attracted to another strong capable man doesn’t warrant that. No. 

She reached forward with her sturdy hand and slapped Lance’s face twice, a token of approval. Lance could see the meat in her other hand out of the corner of his eye and felt the wet slap of her palm on his face, and wanted to hurl at the feeling of wet, meat-flesh making contact with his beautiful skin.

Aye, caramba, what a morning.

“You will come inside, and I will make you some coffee,” she said, turning around as if expecting him to follow.

Lance was pushed forward a bit, and he suddenly remembered the guy behind him.

“Is she always like this?” Lance asked out of the corner of his mouth.

“No dude,” he said. “She’s worse.”

“I can hear you, you ungrateful boy!” she yelled from beyond. “I am nearly dead but I am not deaf!”

“Don’t I know it,” grumbled the boy.

“Get over here, Hunk!” The boy scrambled at his grandmother’s request, and Lance perked up his own speed and entered the house.

It was almost entirely similar to Keith’s house, but Lance also noticed a staircase that led to an upper apartment, and the place had a distinctly grandmother-style touch to it. Palm tree pillows, old furniture and lots of knick knacks.

As promised the old lady made him coffee and had him sit down, now a welcomed guest in their home. She talked the whole time, and directed the boy, Hunk, to do her bidding with a few arm slaps here and some pointing gestures. Hunk brought out small cookies that had dainty lace-like frosting on them to go with the coffee the grandmother had made.

Lance took a bite and nearly swooned, they tasted like pieces of sunshine.

“You like those, huh?” the grandma—or Gram-gram, whatever, they were warming up to each other okay?—smiled and Lance saw one of her teeth was chipped. It gave her an almost mischievous appearance. “My Hunk made those.”

Lance turned to the boy beside him, who blushed and waved a hand bashfully.

“I bake when I’m anxious,” he said. Lance looked to the spread on the table and then to the jars and plates and containers filled with other hand-baked goods. No kidding, he thought as he took another bite.

“When you are finished, you can start on the lawn,” said Gram-gram.

“Um, what now?” Lance asked halfway around his cookie. Gram-gram leveled him with a nasty glare and Lance closed his mouth and chewed quietly.

“I will bring you into my home for today while you figure out what to do with your life, now that you are homeless,” Damn, Lance thought as he dry-swallowed his cookie. She didn’t fucking sugar-coat it. “Pulling weeds is the best way to clear your mind,” she said, eerily cheerful while taking Lance’s mostly empty coffee from him. “And I’m sure Hunk will not mind the company.”

Lance looked to Hunk, who blanched, then looked at Lance, semi-hopeful.

The dude was a kitten. Lance rolled his eyes when Gram-gram couldn’t see him, then motioned for Hunk to lead the way.

Hunk eagerly led him outside, back to the front yard, and handed him a pair of gloves.

“Here, your hands probably aren’t used to this, you’d better take these.”

Lance wrinkled his nose. “How can you tell?”

“I mean, your hands look softer than a baby’s bottom. Not that I like, I mean, not that I—”

“Hunk, was it?” Lance asked.

“Yeah?” 

“Chill,” Lance said. “And thanks for the gloves.”

Hunk smiled, and Lance hated seeing it because it _didn’t_ want to make him punch the dude in the jaw. Fuck, he really was gay, wasn’t he?

The two got to work, working on the upper left corner of the front yard and working their way across like a sudoku puzzle, pulling and scraping the ground for the weeds that didn’t belong there. Hunk talked the whole time, chatty as a monkey and he was easy to make laugh, too, which Lance liked.

Lance approached a dandelion and pulled at its roots. Truthfully he always liked the dandy color of dandelions, but weeds were weeds and the sucker needed to be pulled.

“Wait, stop!” cried Hunk, rushing over to Lance.

“Huh?”

“Dandelions are good for the grass, dude,” Hunk said, pointing to the yellow flower. “Their roots are like, mad strong, and they pull up all the calcium and spread it around to the other little buddies.” He tapped the little flower on the head, like he was petting it. “These little dudes rock!”

Lance’s face pulled up into a smile. “They rock, huh?”

“Totally,” Hunk grinned. He looked away from the flower and nodded to Lance. “So like, are you from around here though? I know you’re not from _here_ , like I’ve lived here my whole life and I’ve never seen you, and I might be a recluse but I’m not a hermit. Um, anyway, you said you’re from where?”

Lance tried not to smile. Hunk’s anxiousness made him want to throw Hunk off a tall tower and into a lake. The dude just needed to live a little.

“I’m not far from here, but I go to a school in the other district.” 

“Oh word, Carillo High?” Hunk asked while plucking a weed from the grass with as much care as if he were handling a baby.

“Uh, no, I go to Santa Maria’s,” Lance responded.

“Bro, you go to _private_ school?” Hunk whistled and pat the ground with his shovel. “Gram-gram was right about you. She has this _thing_ you know, she can like just stare into your soul and know who you are as a person.” Hunk laughed. “Like she has this thing, where she always _knows_ when I’m not doing my homework. Like, I can be on my computer and just switch tabs to Minecraft and she’ll holler through the door,” Hunk shook his head. “Scary man.”

Lance frowned. “Have you ever thought maybe she’s like, parent-stalking your computer? Like through bluetooth or something?”

Hunk sat back on his heels. “Whoa. Can you do that?” Lance shrugged. “Hudas.”

Lance wiped some sweat off his brow, slightly knocking the hat Hunk had given him earlier. Lance had delicate skin, okay? Not all brown boys wanted to have crispy skin when they were 55.

He’d just been about to plunge his hand-shovel back into the grass to take out another weed when he heard a “Fucking shit?” and looked up to see none other than Keith Kogane Lee standing in front of him, shirtless and in jean shorts, sweating and panting. Keith pulled out his headphones and Lance wanted to scream at him that _no one wears jeans on a run you moron they fucking chafe_ , but instead, all he could do was glare at him from under his long-bonnet sunhat.

“You got something to say Lee? Me and my buddy _Hunk_ here have some work to do, and you’re a goddamn distraction.”

“I’m a fucking—what the—Lance, what are you—”

“What’s it look like, shithead? I’m weeding Gram-gram’s garden. Now get out of here before she calls the cops on your Japanese ass." 

“I’m Korean you dipshit,” Keith said. “You fucking know that.”

“Yeah, well she probably hates them too, right Hunk?” Lance put his gloved hands on his hips and glared at Hunk, stressing with his eyes that he needed backup.

Hunk of course, delicate doe that he was, could only stare at the two of them like they were his friend’s bickering parents. “Um, I actually don’t really support my grandmother’s nationalistic racism? So maybe—”

“Forget it,” Lance huffed. “Beat it, Keith. We’ve got work to do. _Someone_ actually fucking likes it when I help around, and that certainly isn’t you, coño.”

Keith’s eyebrows clung together like a skinny caterpillar across his face. He looked confused, maybe a little conflicted, but instead of responding, he plugged his headphones back in and walked out of sight, back to his house next door.

Lance heard the door slam, but he distracted himself by going back to talking to Hunk like nothing had happened. And Hunk, bless his pure soul, let Lance do just that.

They came in about an hour later, having finished the yard and cleaning it of every weed, except for the dandelions, which Lance thought looked kind of cool growing along the edges of the grass, like little guardians. Hunk slapped his back, and _damn_ that motherfucker could pack a wallop without even trying.

Gram-gram had them both shower, and Hunk was kind enough to let Lance borrow a T-shirt and some old pajama pants while Gram-gram did his laundry. Seeing as how Lance officially only owned the clothes on his back, or rather, the clothes in the wash, it was nice to know he wouldn’t be donning them all sweaty on his first ever night of not-knowing-where-he-would-sleep. 

Gram-gram cooked them pork for dinner, and Hunk and Lance played MarioCart. It was a surprisingly wholesome day, for Lance, who around this time would’ve probably convinced Keith to sneak into a Vallarta and steal conchas from the bakery.

It dawned on him when the obnoxious beeper to the dryer went off and his clothes were done, that he really had nowhere to fucking go after this.

So...maybe he could stay here?

“You can’t stay here,” Gram-gram said.

Lance’s shoulders slunk down into his chest cavity. The controller he held dropped into his lap as he slowly got up to grab his clothing and leave. But Gram-gram stopped him. 

“You do not have nowhere to go,” she said. “You are just looking for the path of least resistance.” Gram-gram poked Lance in the chest, _hard_ , and Lance suddenly didn’t wonder where Hunk’s strength came from, goddamn. “Sometimes, you must _resist_.”

Lance rubbed the spot on his chest where she’d poked him, but weirdly, it didn’t hurt all that much.

Then the doorbell rang, and things got a bit more complicated.

Hunk rushed to answer the door and from where Lance was standing, he could see on the other side of the screen door: Shiro and Keith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wwx8Voq373A)


	3. The Prodigal Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The One Where Keith and Lance Make Up, and Are Kinda Shitheads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The feelings expressed in this chapter are NOT necessarily the views of the author (but I agree with Shiro 100 percent. Always). Carry on, babes, and remember boys are STUPID, OH MY GOD KEITH.

“Lance?” called Shiro. “Can you come out here please? Keith has something he wants to say.” 

“I don’t wanna say _shit_ —” Keith began before Shiro shoved him in the ribs with his freakishly strong prosthetic arm.

“Shut the fuck up Keith and make this right,” Shiro chastised under his breath. “Lance?” He called louder.

Keith watched as a lady who was old as _shit_ threw Lance out the door, nearly breaking Keith’s nose when the screen door flew open.

It became awkward fast. Some bigass dude with puppy eyes guarded the entrance and towered over everyone, Old Lady glared at Keith and Shiro like a mole person from beneath them, Lance stared at anything but everyone, Shiro tried to play “nice neighbor” by breaking out into Polite Smile #14, and Keith just wanted to run like hell and never turn back.

Keith also wanted to punch Shiro in the neck, but he’d been right. He’d sat on Keith’s bed and talked at him for longer than Keith ever wanted, but he’d been right.

“Keith?” he’d started out, a quick knock and a pause. “I’m coming in.”

“Fuck you,” Keith said. He was sitting crossed legged on his bed, playing video games and frankly trying to shut down his emotions one by one.

He’d shut down “I’m a piece of shit” and “The fuck had I been thinking?” and now only “I will enter hell with open arms” was left to block and unfriend.

Shiro opened the door and sat on the bed behind Keith.

At first he said nothing. But that lasted a whole, oh, _ten seconds_ before Shiro Guidance Counselor showed up for some guiding.

“You know what you said was shitty, right?” Keith turned up the volume on the TV and shot a dude several times in the head. “Because it was, and as long as you know that, I can move on to my next point.”

Keith grunted. He’d learned that Shiro needed a certain amount of encouraging in order to leave Keith the _fuck_ in peace.

“You and me and Pidge, we know what rejection feels like. We’ve learned to take the fight, and spin it around. If someone yells at us, we dish it right back. Our feelings are guarded by years of throwing that shit back, knowing that where those words come from are from people who are in shitty moods and aren’t worth our time.”

Keith continued to shoot at various characters within the game, but the “I’m a piece of shit” feeling kept poking him in the shoulder.

“Lance doesn’t have that,” Shiro said. “He jokes around and we all know he talks a big game, but he just got kicked out of his own home for something you and I both know isn’t a big fucking deal, doesn’t make him a good or bad person. He isn’t used to anger, Keith. And you let him have a real show of yours.”

Keith threw the controller on the ground and turned around, staring at Shiro with a frown sharp enough to give sutures. He was fucking done with this, mostly because “I’m a piece of shit” was punching him in the ribs now and “The fuck had I been thinking?” was hollering in his ears.

“Keith, he’s no saint either, but letting him work out his fear and anguish through cleaning? Not the worst way to work out problems.” Shiro looked pointedly at Keith’s pigsty of a room raised an eyebrow. “Certainly not the worst.”

With that, Keith finally threw a pillow at his head, and Shiro took the hint and left him alone. 

His words settled in slowly. They settled at about the same rate it took for Keith to realize everything he’d said, while it’d been fucking true that Lance was overcompensating _—as usual—_ Keith had _marginally_ overreacted.

It also became pretty clear when later, Pidge, who hadn’t said one word to him the whole day, walked into his room, looked him dead in the eye and turned over an entire fucking bowl of jello on the floor. It slammed, slipped and slid all over the ground, and Pidge simply turned on her heel and walked away, but not before dropping the bowl on the floor, too. Point taken, bitch.

Now Keith was standing in hell, and while he wasn’t openly embracing the experience, he was there, so it might as well all be fucking dealt with.

“Go,” the Old Lady said to Lance. “Speak with the ugly one.” She gestured to Keith, who wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He wasn’t ugly. Was he? Fuck this.

He huffed and walked away, expecting Lance to follow him. He heard Shiro clap Lance’s shoulder gently and sigh.

“Make him pay for it,” Shiro said, and Keith rolled his eyes. Judas. Keith turned around once to see Shiro turn to Old Lady and Big Dude, who gave them his attention while he waited for Keith and Lance to figure out their shit.

“Hello,” Shiro smiled Smile #6, the kind that would be a relief to see in a dark alley. “How are you ma’am? It’s nice to finally meet.”

Lance and Keith started to walk out of sight, but Keith could see Old Lady staring Shiro down as he rounded the corner before hearing in a wary voice: “I remember what your people did.”

What? Whatever.

Keith brought them to the other side of the hedge, where they couldn’t see what was going on from the neighbor’s house. Keith sat on the curb, opening and flexing his fingers, clenching his hands into fists, then spreading them out again. It was a nervous gesture that Keith always had, he had to be moving. Lance had a similar tendency, but where Lance was fluid in his motions—tapping fingers, wiggling toes, pursing his lips—Keith always moved like he was getting ready to strike.

Lance sat beside him and looked as happy as a badger in a thunderstorm. He wasn’t looking at Keith, and Keith wasn’t looking at him, but they watched each other carefully from the corner of their eyes, waiting for the other to speak first.

And since Lance was a fucking piece of shit, and would probably hold out until the Russians finally did have the balls to bomb them to smithereens, Keith went first. 

Emotions “I’m a piece of shit” and “The fuck was I thinking?” were silent, but “I will embrace hell with open arms” whooped wildly in his chest.

“Okay, you remember the first time we met? When I tried to like, hold you up on the school playground, and all you had was a quarter, and you threw it at my forehead and it somehow knocked me out?”

“Yeah,” said Lance, “I do. That was hilarious.”

“Exactly,” said Keith, who still refused to look at him. He glared at the pavement and he could hear his own breathing in his ears, but he plundered on. “Instead of calling the yard duty on me or whatever, you stayed and laughed until I woke up. And you helped me up and you handed me that fucking quarter.” Keith clenched his hands again, and the cement under him was freezing his ass, but goddammit he just needed to fucking say it.

“Look, I still have that fucking quarter.”

Lance tensed, opossum-like in his stillness. Wary and waiting.

“I kept it because it’s one of the few fucking good memories I have. Those days were shit. My life was shit. It still kind of is.” He took a breath and wanted to scream. Keith wasn’t about emotions, he wasn’t about great declarations. He really wanted to stop, and he wanted to hold his breath hard enough to pass out and forget this ever happened. Guh.

But if Keith didn’t see his as-usual fucking dumb piece-of shit-idea to the end, then he wasn’t Keith Kogane Lee.

“But now I have Shiro, and Pidge, and I have you, and I don’t want to lose any of it. I’m sorry for freaking out this morning, but dude, you went through my laundry, and that’s really gay. Like—oh fuck, you _know_ what I mean.”

Lance shrugged, mouth pursed into a little button sized thing as he stared at the ground.

“Just...come back home, okay? You can clean my sock drawer or whatever. But like. Don’t—” Keith slammed his fist on his leg and the pain leveled him a little bit. “Don’t _go_.”

He felt like he was going to barf and turn inside out at the same time. He could feel his face turning as red as his jacket and he really just wanted to bury his head in the cement by beating a hole into it with said head, and preferably die in the process.

He literally would’ve rather played Russian Roulette than talk about fucking _this_ , but Lance, being the emotionally sensitive dumbass he was, would probably never speak to him again if he didn’t say something. At least that’s what Shiro had basically implied.

He also knew if Lance forgave him he’d probably come back and clean up the jello Pidge had thrown on his floor. Which was basically why he was sitting here now—that’s what he would continue telling himself.

He didn’t expect to hear Lance spit and he certainly didn’t expect to then feel the _slickest_ finger enter his ear cavern, where Lance wiped an egregious amount of saliva into his ear canal.

“The _FUCK, dude?!_ ” Keith jumped two feet in the air and wiped at his ear with his hand, then wiped at it with his jacket, then died a little on the inside knowing Lance’s _spit was in his ear he’d given him a fucking wet willy the asshole._  

The smug dick in question looked awfully pleased with himself, right before Keith punched him in the face. Lance scrambled for purchase and then tackled Keith into the grass. The two fumbled and tossed around on the ground a little, and before he knew it Shiro was back and between them, shoving them both apart while the two wordlessly grunted and were pried apart from each other.

Keith looked at Lance, panting, sweating, grass streaked across one side of his face, and a simpering smirk on the other.

Keith rolled his eyes and straightened his jacket. “You coming back or what?”

“Fuck you,” Lance said, then spat on the ground. “What’s for dinner?”

“Shiro ordered fried chicken.”

Lance appeared to weigh his options, then shrugged his shoulders. “Alright, I guess.”

Inwardly, Keith sighed. Lance was a goddamn drama queen.

Lance said his goodbyes to the Old Lady and Big Guy, whose name was Hunk, of all fucking things, and Lance promised to come by again tomorrow. Fucking why? Keith didn’t know, and whatever his stomach was doing was totally irrelevant to when Lance bumped fists and back-pat Hunk, complete with the Special Lance Grin and Wink.

Was gardening what did it for him? Weirdo.

Shiro was already inside, grumbling under his breath and spreading out the fried chicken and multitude of sauces accompanying it. Keith put the coleslaw in the fridge, since no one but Pidge ever ate it, and she’d probably dig into it when she came back from class at two in the morning.

Lance set the table, finding his way around the kitchen like he’d put the place together himself, chatting easily with Shiro and acting altogether like he’d never been gone in the first place. It made Keith’s skin prickle, like there was something wrong with himself that he didn’t feel comfortable in his own house anymore. It was like Lance had taken over all the spaces Keith made empty, and it kind of felt like he was being pushed out of something that he’d once been part of. 

He ignored the feeling in his gut and tore into the chicken.

For once Lance was quiet, shutting up in favor of eating. “Hungry, Lance?” Shiro joked, and Lance smiled.

“Yeah, I actually ate some pork at Gram-gram’s and Hunk’s place but I think the yard work took a lot out of me. The sun always makes me tired, is that fucking weird?”

Shiro shook his head and tore into a chicken thigh, spreading ranch on it with his fingers. “Nah, all that vitamin D. I know back on tour it took most boys a week before they were able to pull the weight they were expected to.” He pointed the wing at Lance. “You drink enough water?”

“Does coconut juice count? Hunk had a ton of those. They’re fucking awesome.”

Shiro nodded. “Yeah dude, electrolytes are great in this heat.”

“Sweet, we’re probably going to be working again tomorrow.” Lance looked from Shiro to Keith. “He uh, actually offered to help out with your yard, too. But like, it was just an offer. Don’t want to uh,” Lance shrugged a little too nonchalantly and kept his eyes on his drumstick. “Overstep my boundaries.” 

Keith’s chest tightened, and he took a large sip of beer then pounded his chest.

Shiro smiled and pat Lance on the back twice with his greasy hand. “Don’t sweat it, do what you want. The yard’s a mess and I just never have time to do it. And I’d rather Keith and Pidge study than work on home aesthetic,” Shiro grinned at Lance, who practically blushed at the attention. Dipshit. “But it’s your summer break and if you want to, have at it. _No one_ will mind a little cleaning up around here. Just don’t work too hard, you don’t need to earn your keep.”

Lance didn’t reply, and took an exceptionally large bite of chicken after Shiro’s answer. He remained pretty quiet after the whole exchange, actually.

Shiro and Keith weren’t especially talkative during dinner, which they usually ate alone since Pidge had her classes at night, but now, with Lance chewing silently, it felt...loaded. Keith frowned, stared at the growing pile of chicken bones in the middle of the table, and looked over at Lance.

Lance, who was still not-entirely-unnoticeably not looking at or talking to Keith.

Keith looked at his chicken, to Shiro, to the sauces. He pointed to an orangish-red sauce.

“Try that one,” he said, nodding his head and tapping the small plastic saucer toward Lance. Lance’s eyes flicked to Keith for a half-second, but he still didn’t meet his eyes.

He said nothing as he dipped his half-eaten chicken wing—the double-dipping animal, exactly what a dude who gave wet willies as a 17-year-old would do—into the sauce, and then put it in his mouth, sucking the flavor off the meat.

Lance choked almost immediately and turned a bright shade of red. “Oh my pinche Guadalupe are you fucking trying to poison me?” he asked Keith. “You know I’m not fucking able to eat spicy food, it is the _worst_ Keith.”

“Fuck you,” Keith said, narrowing his eyes and taking another bite of his own chicken, which was drenched in the same sauce. “Spicy food is great and aren’t you like, Mexican? You’re a fucking disgrace to your people,” he said while chewing.

“Motherfucker I am _Cuban,_ we do not eat spicy food you fucking knew that,” Lance said, throwing his chicken wing at Keith, who ducked, causing it to fly and skid onto the floor.

“Oh really? Did I know that?” Keith dropped his chicken wing and used his fingers to narrow his eyes, fanning them out and upward. Shiro’s mouth dropped and his food went with it, plopping onto the table in shocked horror. “Because apparently I’m Japanese and I guess Japanese people can’t fucking tell the difference between your people.”

“Yeah?” Lance countered. “Maybe you are Japanese. I mean, Keith isn’t even a Korean name. You all fucking look alike anyway.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Shiro said, pointing a chicken wing at Keith. “And fuck you,” he pointed to Lance, who gasped in astonishment. “Both of you are little shits. You’re as much as an asshole as that racist grandma next door. Like I was in Iraq, not the Philippines, _Christ,_ lady. World War whatever was a long time ago,” he said, shaking his head to himself and chewing on a chicken bone.

Keith and Lance looked at each other at the same time and started laughing. Lance had tears in his eyes, probably in part from eating the spicy wings, and Keith laughed so hard he started to hiccup.

Shiro sighed. “This is so not funny.”

“Hey,” Lance said, wiping at his eyes. “Do you think now that she knows you’re Japanese, she’ll like, change her racist old lady ways?”

“Then you and her can eat shitty ramen together and send each other love letters using Hello Kitty stickers,” Keith said and Lance started hollering and nearly climbing over his chair in trying to control his laughter.

“I hope you get mugged you stereotyping turds,” Shiro said, taking his plate to the sink while Lance and Keith followed him.

“Senpai, notice me!” Lance said while clasping his hands and popping a leg in the air, and Keith fucking lost it.

But then, so did Shiro. He grabbed the two under his massive arms and pulled back, choking them at the neck and nearly lifting Lance off the ground and succeeding with Keith.

“You fucking nerds,” Shiro sighed. Finally when the two had calmed down enough and brought their offensive Mr. Yunioshi logic to an end, he dropped them to the ground. Keith gasped while Lance wheezed.

Shiro left the plates where they were and walked back to his room. “Assholes!’ he called over his shoulder, and Lance started giggling anew.

“Shit,” Lance said, lolling his head to the side. Keith turned to meet him and Lance’s grin was a mile wide. “That was fucking hot.”

Keith punched him in the arm, and smiled when Lance clutched it dramatically and leaned against him. They left the damn dishes until morning, with the slightest hope Pidge would do them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Pinches bridge of nose and sighs, deeply* I just. Keith. Lance. Fucking _why_.
> 
> [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hMc8naeeSS8) is the chapter's theme.


	4. A Shitty Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The One Where Lance Fertilizes His Friendship With Hunk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wash my hands of this nonsense.

 

It was summer, which was awesome because fuck school, but not awesome because now he was the Awkward Unexpected Guest in his friend’s home, instead of what was normal for him. Like getting yelled at, and not giving a shit, by his mother for not unloading the dishwasher.

Like fuck the dishwasher, all you need to do is have a proper system of using the clean dishes and then like put them back in the dishwasher and slowly make your way over from left to right. Who needed cabinets anyway?

Whatever. Now Lance was convinced at any moment Shiro or Keith or Pidge would get annoyed of him and kick him out of their place. Like, again. Fuck Keith.

So he spent a lot of his time with Hunk over the next week. Working on Gram-gram’s lawn, working on Keith’s lawn, okay, working  _ a lot _ on Keith’s lawn, because it was covered in all kinds of shit and weeds and  _ gum _ ? Pidge, gotta be Pidge.

The more Lance hung out with Hunk the more he liked the dude. It was kind of like taking a shower on a hot day. Like he was refreshing as fuck.

Not that Lance was interested or anything. Whatever Hunk was vibing it certainly wasn’t “I’m into Dudes” kind of vibe.

And Lance dug it. It was like meeting a cousin and just clicking. They didn’t like the same bands, but they dug the same kind of movies and TV shows, and Hunk was so reactive to whatever Lance did it kind of motivated him to push Hunk’s buttons a little.

And it was kind of why they were in deep shit right now.

Like okay, Lance thought as they were being chased by the botanical garden security guards, maybe this had been not his Best Idea, because they were now in shit, literally because of shit.

But it totally wasn’t his fault, okay?

Back up and rewind. The day had started out hot. Like really hot. Like Lance walked to the store at his usual six in the morning and had bought a six-pack of coconut juice and had to drink two cans before he even arrived back home.

Lance showered twice before Keith woke up, and by then he was practically walking out the door, since Hunk would be waiting for him to finish planting the gardenias that Walmart had thrown out into the dumpster and Hunk had assured him he could get back to health and would fucking flourish next to the hedges on Keith’s property. 

“Like seriously,” Hunk promised, “it will totally raise the house’s market value by like 3 percent just by adding nice flowers, bro.”

“Seriously?” Lance asked, adjusting his sunhat. “For a fucking bunch of flowers?”

Hunk shook his head and smiled, patting the ground where he’d placed the drooping white gardenias. “Oh yeah bro, it’s such a slick move. You just make the outside look nice and everyone has that, ‘Oh my god we just  _ have _ to live here,’ dose of endorphins or serotonin or whatever and then competition starts and next thing you know—” he spread out his fingers from his fists in an exploding motion, “—boom! Market value increases on the whole damn neighborhood. And like, no offense dude, but this house—”

Hunk paused and looked behind him toward the house, careful that Shiro, whom Hunk had grown easily attached to, like everyone did, wasn’t around. Hunk was entirely considerate where Keith was oblivious. 

“This house could use some special attention, that’s all I mean.”

“Special attention? Fuck off,” came a voice from right in front of them and Hunk nearly jumped to his feet he was so surprised. He blushed and raised his hands, about to probably cry from embarrassment and choke on his tongue with an excuse, but Lance just rolled his eyes and looked up at Keith. Keith: who was fucking shirtless and sweating and wearing his goddamn jorts from his run.

“Fuck you man, he’s just saying what you know.” Hunk was still a concerning shade of red as Keith stared him down, which was still intimidating even though he was half his size and had eyelashes as long as Halley's comet’s tail.

“Whatever,” Keith said, then flicked his gaze over to Lance. “You’re fucking out here? Again?”

Lance shrugged. “We’re bringing up your house value man.” He frowned. “You could fucking get an edger and help out too, you know.”

“A fucking what?” Keith asked, face looking so dumbly confused Lance had to physically ignore the weird stomach flutter he got in favor of rolling his eyes.

“A fucking  _ edger _ ,” he emphasized. “To clean up the edges and shit? You’ve got weeds all up in these cracks in the walkway dude.”

Keith looked like he swallowed a bug. Maybe he did. But whatever he was experiencing passed quickly as Keith turned on his heel and walked into the house, slamming the door with his usual amount of considerate grace.

“Do whatever you fucking want!” Keith shouted from inside.

Lance hollered back. “Fine! We’re going to the botanical garden later you puss! We’re going to match plants to the gardenias, not that you’re fucking invited with your shit attitude!”

Lance turned his attention to the flowers he was holding but the sound of reversing footsteps getting closer and another slammed door had him spinning around again to see a pissed off Keith, as if there were any other kind.

“Botanical garden?!” Keith repeated. “Who the fuck are you?!”

“Your sassy gay friend, who the fuck else would I be?” Lance retorted, spreading out his arms and inviting Keith to the fight. Keith threw his head back, groaned, and marched right back in the house.

“Um,” Hunk said. “You guys, do this often? Yell and...yell?”

Lance thought for a moment. “Sometimes we drink beer and make up fake languages.”

Hunk nodded to himself. “Cool.”

Flash forward a little to the botanical gardens. Hunk had drunk the rest of the morning’s coconut juice by then and Lance had switched to iced coffee, which was his first mistake.

Hunk drove them to the gardens, talking about plants non-fucking-stop, which was both boring and kind of badass, because the dude knew  _ a lot _ about things, down to the details. He was a perfectly careful driver on the way over and when one time he braked a little too hard, he flew his hand out to catch Lance from jerking forward two whole inches.

He would make a really good soccer mom someday, Lance thought as he shut the car door and walked with Hunk into the gardens.

Again, it was pretty boring, but also kind of exciting getting to pick out the flowers. Shiro had given him his blessing and twenty bucks, which Lance swore he’d repay and Shiro had given him a look that told him he was fucking crazy for even thinking about it.

“Just stay out of trouble and get the fucking flowers, Lance,” he’d said, and Lance planned on doing at least half of that.

“Holy Moses,” Hunk said, pointing out some white shrubs. “Itea shrubs. I’ve never seen them so big before.” They were easily six feet tall, and Lance was marginally impressed. “These dig wet soil but they’re weirdly drought resistant, which you’re definitely going to need. Just plant them where there’s some shade, and they’ll survive pretty easily.”

“Sure,” Lance said, jotting down the name in his phone. “Altea you said?”

“Itea,” Hunk corrected. “Dope, camellias!”

Hunk ran over a few feet to some badass looking pink plant that had a thousand petals but maintained a perfectly round shape.

“These are finicky but so worth it,” said Hunk. “Like you’d definitely need to give your attention to these puppies, but you only need one bush to really make a statement, and the pink would go awesome standing next to a red azalea bush and the gardenias.”

Lance wrinkled his nose. “Azalea? Like Iggy? Fuck that.”

Hunk shrugged and moved on to the next flower, continuing to gush about acidic soil content and fertilizer and—

Like speaking of fertilizer and shit, Lance was experiencing some of the aftermath of those two large iced coffees and the giant papaya he’d ate for breakfast. Which Pidge had loved, by the way, and had totally freaked out about the alien-looking black seeds inside. White people, huh.

“Yo, Hunk? There a bathroom around here? I got a situation.”

Hunk blinked a few times in thought and hummed. “Um, I think back where we parked our car? Can you wait twenty minutes? I think there’s a shop at the end of the trail here. We can buy a couple plants and then head back.”

“Uh, yeah,” Lance said. “No problem.”

Problem.

Real.  _ Big. _ Problem. One that was currently making its way down his tubes and was not playing games.

By the time Hunk and he had merrily made their way to the garden’s shop, Lance was practically vibrating in place to keep  _ things _ from happening. And Hunk seemed to be taking his damn sweet time, humming and pointing out some more plants to Lance here and there—”Sonoma sage Lance! Smell it go on dude, smell it”—”Are those sorrels? Yo that’s a nice ground filler”—”Dude check out the green on those ferns! Now that’s eye-catching”—Lance was ready to  _ lose it _ .

They paid for their plants, Hunk with about four different varieties of, you guessed it, Sonoma sage, and Lance bought two itea plants and a camellia he got on discount.

The second they made their way down the path and the road was clear, Lance shoved his plants into Hunk’s overfilled arms.

“Dude hold this, I’m gonna fertilize the grounds here if you know what I mean,” he said, jumping behind a tree and stepping into some of those, whatthefucks? Sorrels.

“Okay but pee fast I think I hear someone—What on heaven’s sweet doorstep are you  _ doing?! _ ” Hunk whisper-shouted, spinning so fast on his heel to stop himself from watching Lance squat into the bushes and take a sweet dump into them.

“I told you I had to take a shit,” Lance said. “It has been way past twenty minutes, bro.”

“Okay you said  _ situation _ , not  _ that _ . And we are like five minutes from the car, oh my god my Gram-gram was so right about you,  _ holy crap and John the Baptist why is this happening _ .”

Lance laughed. “Well I do go to Catholic school.” He adjusted his knees to rest his elbows on them, then put his face in his hands while he waited for nature to take its course. “Wait, I thought you said Gram-gram liked me? Did I get out of her good graces? Is it because Shiro is ‘a Japanese’?”

“Lance someone’s coming!” He could hear Hunk freaking out and practically heaving with anxiety. Lance did his best to hide completely in the silhouette of the tree. It was a huge one, but one wrong angle and he would be outed for sure.

“Distract them!” Lance said. He was so close to being done. One more push. Or two. Fuck he was never drinking coffee with fruit again, that was a no bueno on his part.

He heard Hunk laugh nervously while crunching footsteps made their way toward them. “How’s the day for you sir? Just enjoying the lovely sunlight, and the nice shade, and the nice sunlit shady parts in this area of the gardens. Such beautiful gardens, really sir, what a regional treasure. I sure wouldn’t ever think of desecrating these sacred grounds!”

Lance rolled his eyes and adjusted his knees. He was almost ready for the home run. 

They were almost in the clear. Lance heard the footsteps walk away, continuing on as the guy circled Hunk to go around him and try to get the nervously chatty dude out of his hair.

Footsteps leaving, Lance was nearly there—

And then one massively long and  _ loud _ fart gave him away.

Flash forward to now, and all systems red alert. Seriously, Lance thought, fiber sucked _so hard_ right now.

“What on—what on earth— _ is that boy pooping behind that tree?! _ ”

Lance shoved his pants up and flew from behind the tree and onto the path, and his eyes blew wide when he realized the guy who’d passed them hadn’t just been some random dude out for a stroll, or for a daily dose of nature and sunshine, but an actual Park Ranger.

Fucking. Shit, Lance thought, before screaming “Run!” at Hunk and taking off at breakneck speed toward the car.

He let his long legs fly ahead of him, wind screaming in his ears as he shot through the park, while the Ranger yelled for them to stop, exactly what Lance had no intention of doing.

Hunk, surprisingly, overtook Lance, still carrying every single plant they’d purchased at the store instead of dropping them like hot rocks like Lance would’ve. They ran, ran their legs off and Lance specifically ignored the shouts because like, he didn’t want to jinx anything, but they definitely sounded like they were outpacing Yogi Bear back there.

The car was in sight and Lance sprinted, practically flying across the pavement and ignoring the honks he and Hunk received as they ignored social decency laws and jaywalked, jay-catapulted, across the road and to Hunk’s car.

“My keys!” Hunk cried to Lance, “My keys! Get them out of my pocket and pop the trunk!”

“Leave the goddamn plants who gives a shit?!” Lance said, but jumping toward Hunk and plunging his hands into his pockets to find the keys.

“Gram-gram with be furious if I come back without the hyacinths!”

Lance barely had time to roll his eyes but they gleamed in victory when he found the keys and popped the trunk. Hunk threw the plants inside and Lance yelled at him to get into the passenger’s side. Hunk swan dove into the car window and barely got both feet inside before Lance peeled out of the parking lot, just as the Ranger sprang from the park, shouting and red as a tomato.

Lance stepped on the gas and didn’t slow down until they were all the way home.

Parked in front of Hunk’s house, Lance stared out the window, eyes wide and breath halted. Hunk looked much the same, as though he’d seen Death and it’d offered him a mani-pedi.

“So we, we never talk about this?” Lance offered.

Hunk turned his head to Lance while keeping his body facing forward. He opened his mouth but no sound came out. 

He closed it, then nodded and stepped out of the car and distributed the plants.

“Uh, see you...around. Hunk.”

Hunk nodded, and disappeared into his house.

Lance walked into the yard after depositing the flowers he’d purchased onto the ground and in the shade. He’d figure out what to do with them later. Youtube it or something. Whatever.

“Hey Lance,” Shiro said around a mouthful of cereal. “How’d the gardens go?”

“You don’t talk about the battles you survive Shiro, you just live with the pain,” Lance said, walking toward the bathroom for a much needed cleansing shower.

“Oh fuck you, you know I’m a war vet,” he said, holding up his prosthetic.

Lance paused at the doorway. “Then you _ know  _ what I mean _.  _ What happens in Afghanistan stays there, _ bro _ .”

“It was Iraq, but whatever,” Shiro grumbled.

Half an hour later and Lance still felt like he was standing on two fault lines. Like it definitely wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever done, but Hunk’s  _ face _ when he’d—

Like it would be fucking hilarious if it had maybe been someone who wasn’t so innocent? Lance had crossed a line, hadn’t he?

Well fuck. If you can’t take a shit in the botanical garden without being judged then Lance was sure that probably wasn’t company he cared to be around anyway. 

So what if Hunk was awesome and kind and a chill dude who laughed at all his jokes. Lance could laugh at his own fucking jokes. He was hilarious, he knew it. It was like taking selfies but with laughter. Fuck off.

Lance wrapped a towel over his hair and heard a knock at the door.

He glanced around to see if Shiro was there to get it, and after a second round of knocks, Lance sighed and opened it himself.

Opened it to see Hunk in tears.

“You—” he wheezed, “you— _ you pooped in the gardens! _ ” Hunk’s eyes were nearly shut from laughter and the wheezing just got more intense as he grabbed his stomach and took a knee, in physical pain from the laughter that consumed him. “You took a dump and we almost got caught! We did get caught and you _ —your face dude you should’ve seen your face when you popped out of the bushes I’m dead, I’m dead and dying that was the—the funniest thing I’ve ever seen _ .”

Lance eventually shut the door on Hunk, who continued to laugh and wheeze and cry outside on the doorstep, until Lance came out with a bat to chase him off, with a promise to plant the hyacinths and camellias in the morning.

It might’ve been a fucked up day, but it was also the day Lance got two best friends. So, he’d take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [this y’all](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z9HwpFdC6tE)
> 
> If nobody watched celia on netflix gooooo watttchhhh
> 
>  
> 
> The next chapter is fun, the follow two are a little more emotional. Can't have problem kids who just have fun can we oh noooo they have to have feelings and psychological emotional processes am I just never allowed to have fun give it a rest brain.
> 
> Note: best to think of these as episodes. So there will be two short "seasons," I don't think I can make this go past 22 "episodes" max.
> 
> Y'all are awesome. I want you to know that. <3


	5. The Green Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The One Where Keith and Hunk Read Pidge's Alien Diary

Lance was spending a lot of time with Hunk.

Not that Keith _cared_. Keith didn’t give a shit. Like, Lance had been hanging on his arm for years now anyway. He could use a break.

He scraped his toothbrush roughly against his bottom teeth. He narrowed his eyes as he watched the two of them lounging in the front yard with a blanket on the clean, if slightly dried out, lawn. Hunk had procured a large umbrella from somewhere in his grandmother’s giant mess of a garage—Keith had seen it and it’d pissed him off because it was _way_ messier than Keith’s room, shut the fuck up Lance mind your own—and Lance was using it for shade.

They were drinking those disgusting coconut juices, the kind with pulp, gross, and Hunk was laughing at something Lance was saying. It was probably just a joke he’d told Keith a million times and had since lost its luster, but Keith leaned forward toward the window, trying to catch what he was saying, just to make sure.

The wind was traveling the wrong way so he couldn’t hear a damn thing until Hunk burst out laughing anew, and Lance laughed along with him.

Keith growled and spit into the sink, turning on the water harshly to dispose of the foamy toothpaste and then dropping his toothbrush near the sink, Lance’s color-coded system be damned.

Keith took off his sleeping shirt and changed his shorts into some running ones. He grabbed Shiro’s since his jeans were in the wash—fuck whatever Lance said those things were fucking comfortable and they had pockets that didn’t make his keys jingle against his dick every time he took a step—and stepped out the door.

“Oh, hey Keith,” said Hunk. His face was about as intimidating as Okja the Superpig’s and he gave a little wave to Keith.

Keith _kind of_ wanted to stab his eyes out.

“What?” Lance crooned. “No jorts today? Are you finally getting some good sense not to embarrass yourself?” He snorted. “Nah, otherwise you’d cut off that mullet.”

Keith grumbled under his breath and took off for his run, with Lance guffawing behind him. It wasn’t until he was two blocks away he thought of a good comeback.

“Oh yeah?” he panted to himself, pushing his legs to go faster. “Well you’ve got a stupid face!” Keith gave a short out-of-breath laugh and then shook his head, wiping sweat from his eyes. Oh yeah, that was a good one.

By the time Keith got home, Lance and Hunk had cleared the yard. Keith ignored the irritation that made its way into his chest. They were probably off braiding each other’s hair, he thought. Like he cared. Or didn’t care. Because he didn’t. Care. He didn’t care.

He stomped into the house, half registering he’d been out running for more than two hours after a quick look at the clock above the sink, and opened the refrigerator door.

He sat down on the ground and placed his head on the bottom tray, sighing into the cool air.

He. Didn’t. Care.

At all. He didn’t care at all.

Where the fuck was Lance?

“Lance?” he called out, not-hopefully. “You here?” When no reply came back, he rolled his eyes and added, “Dipshit.”

He was just bored, that’s all. With Lance spending all his time next door with Thing 1 and Thing 2, and with Shiro working all day and Pidge doing her thing, Keith had a lot of time to himself lately. And that meant two-and-a-half hour runs accompanied by long sessions in front of the fridge.

Was he dehydrated? Probably. Keith reached into the fridge without looking and pulled out the first bottle he found. He looked at the label and threw it back on the ground. Fucking. Coconut Juice.

Keith managed to pull himself up and take a shower. He rubbed his legs down and did twenty minutes of yoga—it helped his form and kept his muscles flexible, fuck anyone who said anything about it—and he was ready to start counting tiles on the ceiling, anything to alleviate the boredom, when he heard a slam.

And a panicked yell. A high-pitched one from the sound of it, Pidge?

“Oh sweet Peter,” said the voice, and nope, that wasn’t Pidge.

Keith grabbed his switchblade from under his pillow and rolled off his bed. He put himself into a wide combat stance and quietly placed a hand on the doorknob.

He heard muttering outside the door, and it sounded like the person was in the bathroom now. He heard water running and the scenario played out in his head.

A homeless dude had entered their home and was peeing in his toilet. Oh _hell_ no.

Keith jumped out of his room and threw up his knife, barging into the bathroom and holding it out at the intruder. Keith yelled, “What the fuck are you doing?!” and the longest and most _painful_ scream Keith had ever had the displeasure of hearing sounded from none other than the Yellow Teletubby from next door.

“What the hell, Hunk?” Keith shouted, lowering his knife and waving Hunk down from the toilet. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Oh,” Hunk gasped, out of breath and sweating from fear. “Oh Keith, thank god, bro. Dude. Keith. Dog. You gotta—where the hell did you get that knife? Do you just like, always carry it around? What if I’d been Pidge? What if I’d been taking a shower? I’d’ve dropped my towel and you would’ve seen like, everything, homes.”

Keith gave Hunk a strange look. He really had a tendency to just...talk. About things Keith didn’t really follow. Like Lance talked and sometimes it was a little weird, but Hunk kind of took it to another level.

He backed up and Hunk stepped off the toilet and sat down on it, head between his hands. He groaned and it echoed around the tiles. It vaguely sounded like a dying animal, which Keith was starting to think was exactly what was going on.

“You wanna tell me what you were doing breaking into my house?” Keith asked, folding his arms over his chest and growling the words.

Hunk came up from his near fetal position and leaned back against the toilet frame. He looked at Keith and his eyes widened.

“Keith,” he said; quietly, seriously. “I think Pidge is an alien.”

Keith blinked.

How was this his life?

“Beg,” Keith said. “Pardon?”

“I think,” Hunk repeated. “Pidge is an—”

“I heard what you said, Hunk, but _what_ makes you think that and _why_ would you say those things out loud and believe them? Like, have you met her?”

“Barely in passing,” Hunk pointed out.

“Whatever,” Keith said, putting his hands on his hips and pointing the tip of his knife at Hunk, using it like an extended finger. “Pidge. Is NOT. An _alien_.”

“Okay, but how do you know?”

Keith stopped. “What?”

“How do you know Pidge isn’t an alien?”

Keith opened his mouth, finger pointed at Hunk, but then he faltered. He pursed his lips, then opened his mouth again, just to tell Hunk how much he knew Pidge wasn’t an alien, she so wasn’t an alien and he was about to prove it, totally—

“She shaves her legs,” Keith said. “That proves it. Aliens wouldn’t shave their legs.”

“Unless she’s doing exactly what you as a human would _think_ she as an alien posing as a human would do.”

“Wait,” Keith said, taking another step back. “You mean as a human posing as an alien who’s posing as a human?”

“No dude, how are you not getting this: Pidge as an alien who is posing as a human to you humans.”

“But wait if Pidge is pretending to shave her legs—”

“No she’s shaving her legs, she’s just doing it as an alien who’s posing as a human—”

“—to pretend she’s a human to us humans, no okay, I get it now.”

“Good,” Hunk sighed in relief.

“Great,” Keith said, accomplished smile touching his lips. Which he abruptly shook off and became angry again. “The fuck?! Pidge isn’t an alien!”

“But I can prove it!”

“How?!”

“I read her diary!”

Keith was flummoxed. “You what?! How do you just read someone’s diary?”

Hunk looked sheepish, and his face was pink from ear to nose. “If I said I tripped on it and it flew open and I fell face down right over the words…” He watched Keith’s face, which Keith was hoping expressed just how _exactly_ not dumb he really was, and good, it worked, because Hunk sighed and made a motion for Keith to follow him.

He led him into the kitchen and dropped the journal on the table. Keith stared down at it with a suspicious eye, crossing his arms over his chest.

“All right, tell me what’s up.”

Hunk let out a short breath, preparing himself. “Okay, so I was in here looking for Lance, we were going to show each other old movies and decide, based on a rubric, which movies were the most unfit for contemporary society based on sexism, racism, classism, ageism—well okay that was _my_ idea but I think Lance just wanted to watch Nascar or something, anyway. So like, I came over and I couldn’t find him so I went looking for him _okay wait that’s a lie too!_ I came in here to search your rooms and started poking around because I was trying to find information on you!”

Hunk threw his hands up to his mouth, covering it and eyes flaring wide. Keith was still hearing words in his ears because Hunk had been talking _way_ too fast, but now he was caught up and _what?_

“What? Why? Why would you want information on me?” Keith snapped. “The fuck?”

“I just,” Hunk tapped his fingers together in a move way too cute for a giant bear of a boy to be doing. “I mean, Lance is a good friend now, I think he’s cool and he thinks you’re cool and you’re like his best friend so I wanted to be your friend. Like, it seems like you hate me and I can’t figure out why—” Keith coughed into his hand and grabbed the dumb bottle of coconut juice off the floor, clearing his suddenly dry throat. “—so I figured I could just mosey around and find things out about what you like and I found this book and totally didn’t know what it was—”

“It literally says ‘Pidge’s Diary Do Not Touch’ on the cover.”

Hunk paused a beat. “Okay you’re right I knew exactly what it was but I totally figured she’d have written about you. Things like, your favorite food, or your hobbies, _but then I found these devil writings_ and I’m now just concerned for the well beings of everyone in this house I’m _just_ saying.”

Keith grunted. “Why would she be writing about my favorite foods? And like how would that even help you?” He was really trying to understand Hunk and failing miserably.

Hunk blinked. “Gram-gram says the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” He then threw out his hand and pointed to the diary, refocusing Keith’s attention to the important matter at hand. “IDK that’s not the point, the point is that your friend is on Satan Juice and we need to call an intervention.”

Hunk opened the book and shoved it in Keith’s face, forcing him to read the scribbles and scrawlings all over the page.

And um, yeah, things did kind of point in the direction of Pidge being an alien or something. “Um, what are these drawings?”

“I don’t know but they’re kind of good for a twelve-year-old,” Hunk said.

“She’s sixteen,” Keith said absently, taking the diary from Hunk’s hands and flipping through the pages.

“Oh word? I had no idea. Cool. Cool cool.”

The more Keith read the more concerned he got. Like, these definitely weren’t written in English? Or any other language here on earth? And the drawings and mathematical equations—like he knew Pidge was an engineer or whatever but was she trying to build a gravitational wave detector to distribute what looked like Cheetos into space? What?

The front door slammed and Keith heard the one and only Pidge, her little voice humming through the airwaves as she made her way unwittingly toward them.

Hunk gave the tiniest gasp. “Oh my god we’re toast. Jesus, Joseph and Mary I am too young to die.”

Without another word Keith grabbed Hunk and the diary and pulled them out of the way, rushing behind the couch to hide them. They watched as Pidge, wearing giant noise-canceling headphones that covered her ears and blocked their noise, pulled open the fridge and took out two loaves of bread and a tub of coleslaw. She opened the styrofoam container and used her fingers to spread the marinated cabbage on the bread. She flipped one slice over the other and shoved the thing in her mouth, then walked straight back to her room.

“I don’t think that alien knows how sandwiches work,” whispered Hunk way too loudly.

When the door slammed, Keith brought Hunk back to the kitchen and threw the diary at him.

“Okay,” Keith said, placing his hands on the table. “You might be right. Pidge could be an alien. Or more likely just psycho. Either way, we need to investigate.” He looked back at Hunk and directed him with utmost severity. “I need pliers, windex and a really smelly sock.”

“On it!” Hunk said, saluting Keith with iron-tight posture.

“On what?” said Pidge from behind him.

Hunk screamed. He also dropped the diary right in front of Pidge, and for a moment of peace, they all simply looked down at the journal, and no one was dead yet.

“You read my diary?!” Pidge screamed.

Keith hollered, Hunk wailed, and Pidge was already balling her tiny alien hands into fists when Keith shouted to her.

“Pidge wait!” he said, standing in front of a cowering Hunk. “We know— _we know_ _you’re a psycho_. It’s okay,” he assured her, hand stretched out to stop her from murdering them both. “We’re here to help you.”

“Or an alien,” Hunk pitched in helpfully from behind.

“The hell—I’m not a psycho! Or an alien!” she cried out. “Ugh! It’s in code you dumbasses for precisely this reason!” She let out a breath and fanned her face, seemingly trying to calm herself down. “Or rather,” she said, composure returning. “It’s written in shorthand, so other engineers won’t figure out my research.”

“Oh,” Keith and Hunk said together, nodding. Yeah, that made a lot more sense.

“Now,” she said sweetly. “If either of you don’t mind, I’m going back into my safe room, which I know is safe, because if either of you ever step foot in there again, I will chop you limb from limb.” She smiled and Keith felt a little nauseous. “Entienden?”

“Si, lo entiendo,” Hunk responded, and Keith just nodded. Whatever made this go more quickly he was on board with.

She began to walk away and nearly reached her room when Hunk called out, “But what about the spiked dog collar thing? What’s that for if not some kind of alien tech?”

Pidge stood still and moved her head slightly to the right to look at them. “You _really_ wanna know?”

Hunk opened his mouth, then closed it again slowly. “You know what?” he squeaked. “I’ll live.”

“Good,” she said, and slammed the door behind her, shaking the very foundation of the house.

“Wow,” Hunk said, sighing and slumping into a chair. “That was wild. I need to work off his energy. You got some flour? Baking soda? Sugar?”

“Just,” Keith waved his hand, dropping into the chair beside him. “Just help yourself.”

“And you?” Hunk asked.

Keith furrowed his brow, frowning. “Me, what?”

“You wanna help?” he asked. “I always like having someone in the kitchen to help out, or even just talk to, dig? Makes the time pass by happier.”

And suddenly Keith kind of got why Lance liked Hunk.

Lance came by about thirty minutes later, and Keith ragged on him for being late to meeting with Hunk, because what the fuck dude you don’t leave someone waiting nearly an hour while you go out and get beer Hunk’s not going to want to drink anyway when we have coconut juice in the fridge, Jesus, Lance.

They ended up all stuffed on the couch, Hunk between them with the popcorn and cookie baskets balanced on each leg, while Keith schooled both their asses on Nascar racing.

It wasn’t the last night they would all spend together, making up new inside jokes and laughing so hard Keith would shoot beer out his nose. Nah, not the last at all.

And Keith was okay with having a third musketeer after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s not research. She’s writing gay fanfiction like the rest of us.
> 
>  
> 
> [thees ja](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rbQgaHZOFZ0)


	6. A Painful Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The One Where Lance Gets A Little Fucked Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: some explicit content, psychological sad times (aka angst but I hate that word), and a very bad "f" word ("m" in Spanish)

Three weeks had passed and Lance hadn’t heard anything from his parents. He’d gotten little texts here and there from his cousins, from Lana—who’d immediately put him on her phone plan when their parents had cut off Lance’s line—and Leroy, but the airwaves were silent as far as his mom and dad went.

The three passing weeks also saw Lance borrowing a lot of clothes from Keith, who had exactly six shirts, and despite being all different brands, they were the exact same fucking black boring ass t-shirt and Lance had had enough of playing Twin Day with a dipshit who never brushed his hair.

So now here was Lance, standing outside his doorstep, ignoring his brother’s and sister’s advice to wait, because he’d done enough of that. Because he was a grown ass man, and needed his shit.

Well, practically a man anyway, I mean he  _ shaved _ and he’d perfected the handjob so what else was there to learn? If his parents hadn’t simmered down after this long, a fucking  _ lifetime _ to Lance—because that meant summer was a third over and life was shitty like that—then they never would.

Besides, Lance couldn’t hide the feeling in his gut telling him they were over it by now. Like, he was still their kid? They’d fed him, clothed him, and helped him with his geometry. They took him to Disneyland and cleaned him up after he’d eaten too much candy before going on the Dumbo ride—he was afraid of heights  _ okay _ and got simultaneous motion sickness, he was fucking six give him a break—there was just no way they’d turn their son out of the house forever.

He knocked on the wooden frame of the screen door, and he was halfway to flying into his mom’s arms when she answered the door. 

“Hola mama, e‘ta’ bien?” Lance grinned self-consciously but felt giddy when he saw her eyes glisten and her hand clutch her jeans. He flicked his gaze back and forth over her. It felt like he’d been on some weird vacation, but he was home now, right?

He was ready to open the door and walk inside, but when he looked into his home, and on the floor in the hallway, he saw boxes. A number of them. Some covered, some not, most of them stacked with care, some shoved wherever they were able to fit. Lance’s heart dropped and his hands felt numb in his pockets when he saw the name written on every one.

Lance.

He started to panic, and butterflies trembled in his once-confident gut. “Que es e’to?” he asked, and his mother put both of her fists on her hips.

“Lo sabe’ hijo,” she responded. Her lips were a grim line across her face and Lance took a step forward, fitting his hands on both sides of the door, _angered_.

“Porque?! Porque soy maricon?”

“Lance!” his mother said, hand over her mouth. Lance punched the screen, tearing through the fabric and she shouted in surprise. Lance ripped the screen further, angry and  _ hurt _ , his own family had painstakingly packed his belongings, kept them in the fucking foyer, and  _ waited _ until he came back so they could throw them in his face.

His own fucking  _ family. _

Lance looked up from his destruction and saw his father barreling down the hallway, practically flying toward him as his mother screamed in horror.

He could hear their words ringing in his ears, and his breaths felt like they were too short in his lungs. He heard threats from his father and horrified pleas from his mother and Lance ran. He ran to the sidewalk and his dad stomped after him like he was an intruder. His dad waved his fists in the air and screamed to the whole neighborhood how his son was an unwelcome goddamn  _ stranger _ and as long as he pretended to be a godless—

“Fuck you!” Lance screamed in English, tearing his parents down in a foreign language that held more heat and loathing than the one that’d raised him in his home, the language that saw him through little league and years of little mistakes. “Go to fucking hell! All of you!  _ I hate you _ !”

Lance ran down the road and didn’t look back.

Hours later, around twilight, he found himself at the store, the halfway point between his house and Keith’s. He bought himself a coconut juice. He rolled the cold can, which was sweating tears along the sides from the outside heat, and he stared into the small black mouthpiece.

He smacked the back of his head against the cement column in front of the building and a pop of hysterical laughter bubbled out of him.

He hadn’t gotten his clothes.

With shaking fingers, fucking  _ again _ , Lance dialed Keith’s number.

“Fuck you want,” Keith said mildly, sounding distracted. 

“Fuck you doing?” Lance asked. 

“Cleaning the fucking fridge out,” he said. “Pidge has coleslaw in here from 1998 and the smell is fucking up my ricecakes.”

“Your ricecakes are shit,” Lance said, rolling his neck and putting the cool can against it. The cold almost felt painful against his skin, but it was literally the least of his fucking problems right now. “You owe me a favor, right?”

“Fuck you I don’t,” Keith said.

“Waterworld 2004 motherfucker,” Lance retorted.

“I will never, ever fucking trust you with information again,” Keith sighed. “Alright, what is it?”

“See if Hunk will let you borrow his car,” Lance said, then paused. “And,” he continued, gritting his teeth. He pressed the can into his skin harder, ignoring where his skin began to feel numb. “Go to my place? There are some boxes, they’re already packed.”

Lance bit his lip, hard, then clenched his hand around the can. It sounded loud in his ear, but not as loud as Keith’s silence.

“I’m kind of busy right now, I just, can you just, can you just pick them—”

“Fine, whatever, dude,” Keith said quickly. “But no more goddamn mention of Waterworld or I will go to town on your ass about Marine World. You follow, asshat?”

Lance smiled. “Sure dude, we’re square.”

“Fine.”

“Later.”

Lance hung up the phone, and dropped the can onto the ground. It fell on its side and liquid dribbled out of the mouthpiece. Lance kicked it away from him and sighed into his palms. He let thirty seconds pass, then stood and brushed off his pants.

It was late, and he was about to get fucked up.

He followed his instincts. He took an Uber to a club, the first gay one that popped up on Yelp. It looked shady as fuck as he stood outside the door, but the bouncer was giving him a look to either get the fuck inside or go the fuck home so Lance steeled himself, lifted his chin, and walked in like he owned the place.

He was the youngest, skinniest thing in there, and surrounded by a group of bears. He was instantly branded the twink. A lot of dudes weren’t interested but a lot of dudes were. Lance worked his way around the bar and got drink after drink from different dudes, but one in particular seemed itching to climb his tree.

Lance couldn’t really tell if he was handsome in the dark, but that kind of thing didn’t really matter when he was being shoved up the bathroom stall door with a hand roughly stroking him through his pants and a fat tongue pushing into his mouth.

The music thumped through the walls and everything seemed a lot louder than he remembered it being when he’d first walked in the club. His skin vibrated with the bass and Lance didn’t know if he was having an amazing time or the worst time. It kept rolling off him in waves: pain of his family rejecting him washed away by the want in the guy’s groaning into Lance’s throat.

“My family fucking hates me,” Lance said to the guy. His beard was going to give him massive beard-burn in the morning, but Lance just rubbed his cheek against it more.

“Fuck yeah,” the dude said, either hearing nothing of what Lance was saying or not giving a shit. “Turn around, I’m gonna fuck you so hard tonight,” he said.

Lance gulped. “Y-you got a rubber?”

The dude smirked. “Why do you want that? Come on baby, I’m clean.”

Lance would’ve rolled his eyes if he’d had the energy to. “You wanna fuck me baby?” he asked, dropping his voice and adding what he thought was a hefty bit of sultry bass. The guy practically purred against him so Lance thought he was at least succeeding at that, if not being a good son, or what-fuck-ever.

Lance scratched his nails lightly under the guy’s chin, bringing his face up to eye-level. “Then grab a fucking condom, cause you’re not fucking me without one.”

The guy growled and shoved Lance back a bit. He grabbed his wallet and took out a condom packet. It looked worn but Lance wasn’t sober enough to inspect it further.

“If that has a hole in it and I get pregnant I’m calling my dad and he’ll beat you up,” Lance threatened lazily, turning around when the guy directed him to.

“Thought your family hated you?” the guy said, and Lance heard him roll on the condom.

Thoughts were punched from his brain when Lance’s ass was practically ripped apart when the guy didn’t even try to prep him.

Lance’s voice caught in his throat and he couldn’t even scream with the pain, it hurt so much it was just shocking, breathtaking. Lance felt the burn and it felt like his lower body was being torn by horses in some kind of Roman execution and his stomach was being stabbed from the inside.

Lance had no idea how long it lasted, but it felt like hours before the dude finally pulled out, sounding pissed and Lance thought he heard, “—did this before? You’re too tight, fuck, go home kid, shit, I’m no date-rapist—” and next thing he knew he was sitting on the floor again, his legs weren’t working, and it kind of felt like he was dying? Sure, that sounded accurate.

The bathroom spun like a Disco Pang-Pang and Lance pushed his hand into the tile, trying to ground himself and stop his stomach from churning. The pain wouldn’t stop no matter how he held himself and it was taking too much energy to stay awake.

He’d already fucking called Keith in for his favor. There was only one person left to call, but Lance didn’t want to sacrifice his dignity just yet.

Bile rose in his throat and Lance scrambled for the toilet. His hand slipped on the floor and he fell. But his stomach didn’t get the message he was incapacitated, and vomit rose anyway. Lance threw up all over the floor, right beside the toilet.

He wiped his mouth and rested his forehead on his fist.

Well, dignity sacrificed then, he thought. He was still in a haze, in that limbo of trauma and sadness so when Shiro arrived, he actually saluted the guy as Shiro helped him up from the ground and pulled his pants up from around his knees.

At least he hadn’t shit himself, Lance thought giddily as Shiro packed him into the car and drove off.

Lance wasn’t drunk, but he also wasn’t sober when Shiro pulled up in front of the house.

Lance didn’t know how late it was. He didn’t know how early it was, either. He just knew he hurt all over, and not only was he not a good son, but he was a shitty faggot, too. Was he also a shitty friend? He’d do Shiro’s laundry for a week, a month, a year, if it helped pay off his debt for tonight.

Fuck everything, Lance thought as he tipped his head to the side, letting it fall against the cool car window. Fuck. Everything. And fuck himself most of all.

“Lance,” Shiro said. Lance suddenly remembered where they were, and went to unbuckle his seatbelt. He fumbled with it a few times, but finally pushed all of his strength into his fingers to dislodge the metal tag from the lock. A snap sounded and Lance’s ears perked in confusion.

He pulled the door handle, but found the door was locked. Shiro had locked the doors?

Lance froze and shivered. A cold slice of ice ran from his brain to his stomach. Was Shiro going to take Lance somewhere else? Was Lance out, really out now?

He turned his head toward Shiro, bracing himself, begging him with his bloodshot eyes not to make the call Lance knew he was about to make.

Hadn’t he hit rock bottom already?

“Lance,” Shiro repeated. “What are you doing to yourself?”

Lance paused. His tongue didn’t work. He rolled his jaw and opened his mouth. “Being gay,” he said, feeling spiteful. Emotions that he’d been trying to push down all day were working their way up.

“What is that to you? Being gay?” Shiro asked. The light coming from the house was reflected in Shiro’s eyes, but his face was like a slippery stone wall Lance wasn’t able to climb.

Lance stared at him. “You know when your friend does something shitty? That’s gay. You know when your show gets cancelled? That’s gay. You know when your friend acts like a fucking twat, or a girl, or a freak? That’s gay.” Lance slammed his head against the car window again and stared out toward Hunk’s house. “And I’m gay Shiro, I’m gay. My parents hate me and I’m gay.”

“Being gay does  _ not  _ equal being an asshole, Lance,” he heard Shiro say, and he sounded angry. Lance felt like a small animal was burrowing into his chest. “Being gay does not equal having sentiment, or liking girl things, or talking with an accent, or getting fucked in the ass, even,” Lance curled his hands into his stomach and it was like he was being stabbed all over again. “Being gay does not equal anything  _ other _ than being gay.”

Shiro gripped the wheel hard enough to be audible, and his prosthetic gears groaned under the pressure. Lance flinched and turned to look at him. He seemed distressed, but focused, like he was trying too hard to be an adult when he didn’t want to be. It made Lance wonder for a minute, if maybe Shiro really  _ wasn’t _ the adult he thought he was. Twenty-five wasn’t that old, when Lance really thought about it. Not old enough to be picking up high school kids from gay bars after they’ve been shivved in the ass with a dick, anyway.

“Goddamn,  _ Jesus. _ Lance,” Shiro said, “just because you’re fucking gay doesn’t mean you need to be something you’re not, okay?”

“Well maybe I  _ am _ just a freaky slut,” Lance retorted weakly. “Maybe I am just a pinche puto,” his father’s words echoed in his ears.

Shiro slammed his hand against the wheel. “No you’re not, Lance. You’re a wholesome, good-hearted kid, and if you even  _ think _ to believe what you just said you’re fucking wrong. And as for being a slut? Fuck you. Sexual promiscuity is one thing but don’t you dare call yourself or anyone else that word. We’re human beings and that fucking attitude about life goes nowhere dude.”

Silence was loud, Lance realized. Or maybe it was the ringing in his ears from the club. Either way, whatever was hanging in the air was suffocating, and Lance just wanted...peace.

“Lance, I have something to show you,” Shiro said. He unlocked the doors and stepped out of the car, way too energetic for it being sometime in the early hours of the morning. He rounded the car, opened Lance’s door and pulled him, gently, out. Lance stumbled softly toward the door and into the house.

He could feel bile rising in his throat again, but blinked away wetness from his eyes when he saw Keith get up from the couch.

“Fuck, finally,” Keith said. “The fuck were you?”

Lance opened his mouth and croaked. “The fuck were  _ you _ ?”

Keith blinked. “Um, here?” He rolled his eyes when Lance shrugged his shoulders and folded his arms across his chest. “Whatever, can we just go to bed now? I knew you’d be fucking loud when you came in so I had to fucking wait for you, inconsiderate douche.”

“Motherfucker I sleep on the couch,” Lance flew back in response. “How could that possibly wake you up?”

Keith gave Shiro a confused look, and Lance backed up a step, having forgotten Shiro was still around. “You didn’t tell him?” Keith asked Shiro, annoyed.

“I thought he’d want to see it for himself,” Shiro said lightly. “Seeing is believing after all.” He squeezed Lance between his neck and shoulder. “See you in the morning sunshine. Don’t forget to wash up.”

“Thanks, mom,” Keith rolled his eyes and Shiro shoved his head not-entirely-playfully as he passed. Hesitantly, Lance followed Keith to his room. 

His heart dropped when he saw the several unloaded boxes tossed haphazardly in the corner, and the ugliest fucking daybed and accompanying trundle sitting by the window in place of Keith’s full-sized one, which had been there just this morning. One twin-sized bed for Keith and one, apparently, for Lance.

“Gram-gram gave it to us, and I gave mine to Pidge. We gotta clean her drains though, that’s the condition. But other than that it’s fucking free, so.”

A lump rose in Lance’s throat again, but it wasn’t puke, or regret, or whatever he’d been feeling all day.

“‘Gram-gram’?” Lance asked, willing his voice not to shake. “You’re fucking calling her that too, now?”

“She was my neighbor first before she was yours,” Keith retorted and Lance punched Keith in the arm because  _ no one _ should be allowed to be that chill after giving up his fucking bed for an ugly Doris-Day-princess-bed-plus-cot for a dude who spent his night getting dick-speared without even warning his friends about the potential clean up.

“You keep telling yourself that,” Lance said. “She still likes me more.”

“Whatever,” Keith shrugged.

“I get top bed,” Lance said, falling onto the mattress.

“Fuck you, dipshit!” Keith said, tackling Lance and throwing him to the ground and glaring at him after he scrambled under the covers. “Finders keepers!”

Lance shook with laughter as he pulled out the trundle bed beneath Keith. He fell onto the mattress, not even washing his face or changing his clothes before succumbing to a sleep that gripped him until morning.

When he woke up, it was to Keith’s stinking breath aimed directly at him from the upper bed, and Lance smiled before drifting back to sleep. Sleeping in just once in his new room wouldn’t kill him, he thought, as he shoved Keith’s face in another direction. Dude’s breath was foul, even if he was a not-asshole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k2kxlZDOHeQ) is the theme song for this chapter.


	7. An Important Calling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The One Where Keith is Dissatisfied™

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, one more slow one, then next chapter is a wild ride. Literally. :}
> 
> But Pidge is the greatest child there is. Just. Truth right there.

Sometimes Keith couldn’t sleep.

It was whatever, you know. Like, ever since going through the foster care system, it just kind of messed him up in weird ways. It was manageable and not nearly as bad as when Shiro first took him in, but he didn’t think some things—like the fighting response he got when someone sneaked up behind him—would ever really go away.

One of those things was having periods of not being able to sleep. Shiro told him it was PTSD, but that was bullshit. How could he have that when he’d never stepped foot in a war zone.

Whatever. Like he said, it wasn’t a big deal.

Normally he’d work out in his room when he couldn’t sleep, but with Lance in there now, it wasn’t so much an option. He thought about going out for a run, but then thought better of it. They didn’t live in a bad neighborhood, but the sirens had been going off pretty frequently tonight on the outer fringe, where he usually ran, and Keith was in no mood to be stopped randomly by an officer for some bullshit reason.

They practically had his mullet on file now and always gave him a shakedown when circumstances were suspicious. Geez. You hold up a convenience store twice and like, you’re suddenly a criminal.

I mean he was, or had been, but that’s not the point.

So Keith made the decision to climb up onto the roof and check out the view from there. The sky was clear that night and it’d been awhile since he’d just sat and stared at the stars. He used to do it a lot, in the group home when the caretakers had enough on their hands and let Keith do as he pleased. So much for “restrictive” care, fuck.

Keith shoved his fingers into the ledges and climbed his way up to the roof, trying to be decently quiet. He didn’t want to wake up Shiro and get a gun to his head again, now _that_ was PTSD.

He grunted as his palms touched the rough tiles and hoisted himself over the lip of the roof, rolling his way onto the slope and then picking himself up.

He stretched out his arms and looked up at the sky. Yeah, not bad tonight, he thought.

Their house was situated on the top of a hill, not the highest hill, but up there. Their house was second right in their little court, with Hunk at the most right, some dude Keith didn’t know to their left, then Pidge’s house—currently unoccupied as her parents were away on sabbatical in Antarctica and Matt was still deployed overseas, which was why she was staying with them, safety in numbers and all that—and then the house on the far left, which was on the market and pending sale.

Keith let out a sigh and took a few more soft steps forward, coming to the ridge of the roof. When he got there, he sighed again. Or groaned more like.

“Guh,” he said. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“What’s it look like dipshit?” Pidge asked, popping a bubble of gum. It echoed off the roof and into the night. She had her massive earphones down around her neck and hunched over her laptop, complete with several other larger and smaller pieces of equipment Keith couldn’t begin to describe.

They whirred, a quieter version of Shiro’s arm, and Keith settled down beside her, crossing his arms over his knees.

“It looks like you’re trying to find an alien,” he said.

She gave him a wry smile. “I thought I was one? Maybe I’m looking for my stray alien family? Ever think about that?”

Keith smiled. “You know, it could be,” he said. “You could be an alien and we’re just none the wiser. You do have really big glasses, that’s kinda weird.”

Pidge lifted her hands in a mock hold up. “You caught me. My alien eyes are the giveaway.”

“I won’t tell Lance, how’s that?” Pidge laughed and Keith chuckled under his breath. “Bet if you had furry ears and were purple he’d still never guess.”

“He thought I was a boy for like, four years.” Pidge rolled her eyes. “Just because I don’t meet your binary standards boy, you think I’m a dude? Guess again. I can multitask. Hey,” she nodded to Keith, “watch this.”

She tapped a few keys on her keyboard and looked up at the sky. Keith followed her direction and looked out. A few coos started around them, then some more hoots, and a soft symphony of bird sounds filtered through the air.

“What the hell did you do?”

“I have no fucking clue,” she said, smiling at the air around her. “They just love this frequency. I don’t really wanna figure out why, it’ll ruin the surprise I feel like.”

Keith laid down on the roof, hands behind his head. He looked up the stars, and he and Pidge were silent for awhile.

He wasn’t thinking about much. Just thoughts flickering past him every now and then, like lights going on and off in the city.

“Pidge?” he asked.

“Hmm?” she responded quietly, lost in thought.

“What takes you out here?” he looked over at her and she puckered her forehead, asking for clarification. “I mean, why do you come out here and measure the stars? What do you get out of it like, how do you, how do you … keep doing it? Don’t you,” he paused, turning back to the stars. “Don’t you get tired? Unmotivated? Like…”

Keith trailed off and Pidge returned to clacking and clicking on her keyboard. She was working still, and Keith let the sentence hang, letting it crash and die or be saved wasn’t his call at this point.

“I don’t have an answer you’re looking for,” Pidge said, and swallowed her gum. “You and I are different people Keith. You live life by your own terms, and I am very much a product of the environment I was raised in.”

She looked up at the stars with Keith, and the smile she had for them was Pidge at her most genuine.

“I don’t know that I would’ve gotten here without seeing the focus and determination of my parents. Like, I think they just were so passionate about science, and then I became passionate about science, and it’s just like, all I’ve ever known. I don’t think I could live a day without it, it’s like breathing.”

“Like coleslaw?” Keith joked, but his voice was practically a humming whisper it was so quiet.

She smiled. “Shut up. It’s exactly like coleslaw. But Keith,” she turned toward him but her arms hung awkwardly in her lap. She was trying to be nice, he knew, but it wasn’t something that came naturally to her. Pidge was fierce, and a force, but she cared about him, about their little family, and for whatever reason right now she was trying to be gentle.

“You never let anyone tell you what to do,” she pounded her chest and flashed him a peace sign. “I totally respect that. But sometimes I think you push so hard against what everyone else wants, you kind of go flying off in different directions, and you just never allow yourself to float and see where things take you.” She pursed her lips in thought. “I think that’s why Lance and you make a really good team, sometimes.”

Keith stayed quiet. He wanted to interject and say “fuck off,” but that would kind of just prove her point. He held himself gravely still and he let her finish.

But apparently, that was it.

She turned back to her computer and started fidgeting with the controls on some kind of frequency measuring tool.

“That’s it?” Keith asked. “Go float around? That’s your great answer?”

“I told you I didn’t have an answer you’d like,” she shrugged.

“Fuck that,” Keith said, settling against his hands again. “Fuck _that_. You literally went on for five minutes of existential bullcrap and then told me to go float around. What the fuck does that even mean?”

“It means I’m busy working some real serious science shit here and you’re bugging me so _jump off a roof_.”

Keith frowned. “What the fuck are you even doing?”

“Your catchphrase,” Pidge muttered under her breath. “I am _trying_ to—you know what? You wouldn’t even understand it floaty boy.”

“Floaty Boy? I thought you said I wasn’t floating?”

“Well you should be so that’s why you’re Floaty Boy now.”

Keith paused. “Sounds like ‘Bloaty Boy,’” he said, and Pidge’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Lance is going to have a field day with that.”

“You still in love with him by the way?” Keith leveled her with a blank look he hoped would send her directly to hell by just looking at it, but she simply shrugged a shoulder. “Just checking I haven’t missed anything.”

“I am not _in love_ with Lance,” Keith ground out.

“No you just want to jump his bones and have him call you sweetheart until you’re old and gray,” she retorted, scribbling something on her notepad and staring out at the sky again.

“I don’t like you,” Keith said.

Pidge scrunched up her nose in thought. Keith would never say it out loud but it really made her look like a tiny deer. Or a bunny rabbit.

“You know being gay isn’t bad right? Like—” she held up her hands as Keith was about to viciously reply, “—I know you don’t care if _other_ people are gay, but like, you know that _you_ being gay is also like, on the level right?”

“I have literally never given a shit about what people think. Call me gay, call me—”

“—Lance-sexual?” Pidge grinned way too big and Keith growled in frustration.

“—Whatever. That’s not an issue for me.”

“Okay,” Pidge said, shrugging for the fifteenth time with a nonchalant twitch of her shoulder. “I’m just saying that like, in the universe, everything is just trying to be straight. But like,” she pointed up, “The cosmos? It’s all bent and so everything that attempts to go in a straight trajectory gets warped by space and time, and instead it goes around and around and around.” She pulled away from her station and laid down next to Keith, looking up at the sky and pointing out at the stars. “I mean think about it. Space is a vacuum, so, how on earth could anything forcefully pull it in its direction if space is a vacuum?”

Keith was trying to follow along, he really was, but she was right when she said he wouldn’t have understood what science-y bullshit she was up to.

“So you’re saying … everyone’s gay?”

She turned her head and leveled him with a deadpan expression. “I’m saying space is a fucking vacuum and we’re all going to die.”

They both turned back to staring at the sky, and Keith sniffed. “Noted.”

He fell asleep shortly after that, and when Pidge was done with her research she tapped him on the shoulder to wake him. He groggily opened his eyes and had her climb on his back, then piggybacked her down to earth again.

He fell back asleep into an easy, dreamless sleep, but in the morning, the feelings he had the night before weren’t shaken off yet.

He decided to take his bike down to Shiro’s work, the auto salvage yard off the highway, to see if he could juice her up a bit. Keith wasn’t an expert on cars, not like Pidge and Shiro could engineer one anyway, but he’d known his way around his own bike since he got her two years ago.

Huh, had it been that long? He got the bike a month after Shiro took him in after “The Incident,” which hey, had made him infamous and gotten him an endless supply of sponsorships to start his legal drag racing, but—what was he talking about? Oh, the bike.

He rolled Red into the yard, kicking her stand and keeping her behind a huge pile of scrapped doors and seats from wrecked cars. He had Miraç call Shiro in, assuring him he’d only be a few minutes. Not that Miraç gave a shit. He fucking loved Shiro, probably would marry him if it got him to stay and work there forever, and it basically meant Keith could get all the spare parts he wanted at the low cost of exploiting Shiro.

Which he had like, zero qualms about. Dog eat dog world, Keith knew that shit like the back of his hand.

“Hey,” Shiro said, nodding to Keith instead of slapping his hand in greeting. The work was greasy and messy and so Shiro usually preferred to work with his spare prosthetic rather than fuck up the fancy one Pidge’s parents had signed him up as a lab rat for. He was probably doing paperwork since he had no prosthetic on, instead preferring to go single-handed when he wasn’t actively in the lot.

“Hey,” Keith said, “got anything new?”

Shiro smiled and leaned against the counter. “You come all the way here to see if I have something new? You couldn’t have called?”

Keith shrugged and pulled on the pen attached to the counter, used for people to sign receipts or whatever. “Lance and Hunk are out, Pidge is sleeping.”

Shiro kicked his lower left shin, lightly. “Sorry I haven’t been around much,” he said, reading between the lines. “I miss you too, boo.”

“Bite me,” Keith retorted and Shiro laughed, slapping his back with his left hand and dragging Keith toward him. He draped his arm around Keith and they took a walk together, and talked about nothing. Stupid stuff. Like what Shiro was working on today, when Keith was going to get back on the track—“Soon, okay? I’ll go when I’m feeling it,” he snapped.

Shiro took his arm off Keith. “You mean, you’re not feeling it?”

Keith kicked the ground and looked up at the sky. It was still a little clouded over from the morning fog, but was well on its way to clearing up. “I guess not.”

Shiro took a moment to let the silence play out.

“Like I just, I feel like I’m missing out on things. Like I should be—“ he waved his hand and then folded it back in his pocket. “Be out there. Doing something else.” He leaned against a bumper that was sitting precariously on a few other parts, and crossed one ankle over the other. “I feel. Fucking trapped. Is all,” he said.

Shiro frowned. He opened his mouth, then stopped what he was about to say, and he sighed. “Fucking,” he started, running his hand through his hair. “Get over it?”

“‘Float around,’ Pidge says, ‘get over it,’ Shiro says,” Keith grumbled. “Why can’t anyone give me good advice?”

“What, like you’d take it?”

Keith glared at Shiro, and Shiro shot it right back at him before deflating and taking a step closer to Keith.

“You’re going to hate me for saying this—“ Keith narrowed his eyes, “—but I think this is just, a phase.” Shiro flinched and then rubbed the stub of his right arm. Keith watched the movement then stared at the ground, irritated but not ready to ignite just yet.

Something just wasn’t sitting right and he couldn’t put his damn finger on it.

“I know,” Shiro struggled for words. “I know you don’t want to hear this. I mean I don’t think anyone is going to give you the answer you want to hear. But I think sometimes life puts you—off kilter, or whatever, and you just have to readjust your balance. Like you know when you’re on a boat for awhile, and you get off and you still have sea legs? I think…that might be what this is.”

Keith looked at Shiro, and he had that twitch to his brow that meant he was concerned. Keith hated that look when it was directed at him; it made him want to scream.

“I think you need to figure out what it is that’s giving you this bad feeling though, dude,” Shiro said, still not moving any closer toward Keith. “But how about we just, grab some beers and chill tonight? You and me, no talking or whatever, anything. We just hang out like the old days and watch the Clippers cream the Kings.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “In your fucking dreams dude, the Kings are having it out this season. We fucking thrive on adversity.”

Shiro spluttered. “The day the Kings thrive is the day I grow a second fucking arm, dude.”

Keith laughed and started walking back to his bike. Shiro followed him and when Keith put on his helmet and revved the engine, peeling out of the lot, Shiro stayed there until Keith was out of sight.

Shiro kept his promise that night. They hung out in his room with apricot-lagers for Keith and stouts for Shiro and they smack-talked each other’s favorite players until they were blue in the face.

They didn’t talk a single second about the ache in Keith’s gut that was telling him something was wrong. Off.

When he left Shiro’s room and made his way back to his, he saw Lance sleeping on the bottom trundle bed, remarkably still and silent, curled up into a fetal position on the edge of the bed facing the door. Keith eyed him for a moment, then changed into his sleepwear. He crawled into bed without managing to wake Lance, and then faced away from him, toward the window.

He looked out to see if any stars were visible, but the night sky had clouded over tonight, and Keith—he couldn’t see a damn one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fQ7uXX9K7Sk) ya know it, ya know it


	8. A Steering Occasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The One Where Pidge Learns to Drive

“Shut up!”

“You fucking commie pull the car over!”

“I fucking told you I’m not Jewish!”

“I can’t feel my legs!”

It was all Hunk’s fault. It really was this time. It was also Keith’s fault. And Pidge’s fault, definitely hers. Shiro, it was his fault by default—ha—because he wasn’t there to clean up their mess.

Cue breakfast scene: “What do you _mean_ you can’t drive?” Lance asked, chewing on a banana. “Like literally your roommate is a locally-famous drag racer and your other roommate works on cars _for a living_. How, again, do you not know how to drive?”

Pidge shrugged. “Never gave a shit, I guess?” she hummed and took a massive bite of her cereal. Milk dripped down her chin and Lance clicked his tongue. Aye nena. “Like,” she said, still chewing her food between her chipmunk cheeks, “everyone always drives me everywhere? I carpool? I’m environmentally conscious?”

“Your butt’s environmentally conscious,” Lance retorted.

“Eat my shit, Lance,” Pidge countered impatiently and Lance choked on his banana.

“Is that how you give head Lance?” Shiro tut-tutted. “Who will marry you now.”

“Okay,” Lance began, swallowing and blinking the pained tears in his eye from nearly choking on a piece of fruit. “Shiro making jokes aside, you _need_ to learn how to drive.” He looked around the table and both Shiro and Keith were staying out of it. Shiro, because he knew better, and Keith, because he was sleeping in his empty bowl. Lance tilted his head to the side. Cute.

“I’m not being weird here,” Lance said. “We live in a place where living without a car is like, sacrilegious. And I was raised Catholic, I would know.”

“Altar boy, settle down,” Pidge said. “I never said I was against it.” She shrugged and actually looked a little hopeful. “Like, I wouldn’t say no to learning.”

“Uh-uh,” Shiro said, “no way. Your parents left you in my care and they said nothing about teaching you how to drive.”

“Well what if I had their permission? Would you let me then?” she asked, perking up in her seat.

“Oh yes yes _yes_ ,” Lance shook Keith awake, who groggily sat up with a spoon imprint on his cheek. “Dude we’re going to teach Pidge how to drive, we get to corrupt her!”

Shiro leveled him with his impossibly young Dad Face and Lance smiled. “I mean … correct her when she tries to keep her hands at any position other than ten and two,” he lifted his hands and mimed the tight-ass method of driving, making a little honking noise and giggling to endear himself to Shiro, Parental Figure Extraordinaire.

Shiro wasn’t impressed, but then, he often wasn’t with Lance.

“Hey mom, can I learn how to drive?” Pidge asked. During the time Lance had been enthralling Shiro with his driving skills, Pidge had called her mom using Skype on her phone.

“Wh—at?” her mom said, voice cutting out. Apparently the reception in Antarctica wasn’t fantastic, go figure. “You —nt —rive?”

“Mom?” Pidge tapped the phone. “Mom can I learn—how—to—drive?” she asked again. Her mom was cutting out again and Pidge put the phone next to her ear, listening carefully. After a few seconds, she nodded and hung up the phone. “She said yes.”

Shiro gave her a look. “It didn’t fucking sound like she said anything.”

Pidge rolled her eyes. “It was just quiet, but I heard her say ‘—es.’ Which means yes when you’re down in Antarctica trying to stop global warming.” She clasped her hands and gave him big-googly eyes. Lance scoffed, picking up his banana again and taking another bite.

“Please, Shiro? Please please please? I promise I’ll be super good and both Lance _and_ Keith will be there but I actually really want to learn how to drive because fuck carbon footprints mama needs to go to Quickly’s for a green tea snow shake sometimes without bumming a ride from you!”

“Please please please!” Lance begged too, and shook Keith awake again. God that dude could fall asleep anywhere. “Oh, please say yes!”

“I will let you learn _if_ ,” Shiro said, and both Pidge and Lance high-fived each other over Keith’s head. “Big ‘if,’ you take Hunk with you.”

“Whoa wait, backup,” Lance said. “We can’t bring Hunk.”

Pidge grunted in frustration. “What? Why?”

“He’s a backseat driver like _whoa_. One time I stopped at a stop sign for two seconds instead of three and he almost called the cops on me _himself_.” Lance looked at them seriously as they dubiously rolled his eyes. “No I’m serious it would be like, _worse_ , if Hunk came with us.”

“Well that’s my condition. Because Hunk is the most responsible out of all of you. Probably including me.” For a moment they thought about it, and strangely, Hunk wasn’t too far behind Shiro in the Parental Guardian chain. “Take it or leave it.”

“Take it!” Pidge said, jubilantly dancing in her seat, whipping her hand like she was slapping someone’s ass in front of her.

“Ugh, okay fine, but,” Lance pointed his banana in Shiro and Pidge’s direction. “Y’all are going to regret this.” He took a bite of his banana and chewed roughly, sticking out his tongue and showing Pidge see-food when she flipped him off.

So that afternoon, they arrived at the shipping yard parking lot in Hunk’s Nissan Versa. It was a small car, but had excellent brakes. Which Lance knew, because he was in the backseat with Keith and every time Hunk braked even a little bit, his boney fucking ass rocketed half a foot off the seat.

Lance groaned at his headache, shoving Keith for giving it to him and Keith shoved him right back before he, Pidge and Hunk switched seats.

Keith and Pidge sat in front with Hunk and Lance behind. Hunk was blowing into the little hole of the lid from his Starbucks mocha, tentatively tipping the cup to drink some liquid before chickening out and blowing on it again.

“Dude,” Lance said. “Why did you get it extra hot if it’s too fucking hot for you? Like get it at normal temperature like the rest of us.”

“Also, I can’t believe you got a hot drink in July anyway, what the hell bro,” Pidge added in, sipping her iced tea.

Hunk rolled his eyes. “I always get it at extra hot because by the time you get it and go where you need to go before you start drinking it gets even colder. Ergo, getting it at an extra hot temperature when ordering will get it to normal temperature when you actually drink it. I was a partner at Starbucks for two months I know this stuff.”

“Then why aren’t you drinking it now chickenshit?” Keith asked from up front, waiting for Pidge to buckle in.

Hunk leveled him with a look. “I have a sensitive tongue, okay?” He turned to Pidge as she put the car in gear. “Also Pidge, heat actually cools down the body isn’t that like a scientific fact?”

Pidge snorted, “Sure,” she chortled. “On Pinterest.”

Keith was instructing Pidge on the pedals at her feet when Lance groaned, another wave of brain freeze striking him. “Fuck Keith, why the hell did you get that unicorn frappuccino? That was a shit move dude,” Lance whined.

“Fuck you, it was _intriguing_ ,” Keith responded. He mumbled something to Pidge he didn’t quite get, and she nodded her head, taking note of his instructions. “Fuck you for ordering the same thing, I didn’t ask you to.”

“No, but _you_ were the one who challenged me to see who could drink it the fastest.”

“Actually,” Hunk chimed in. “That was you.”

Lance made a whining noise in his throat. “Fuck.”

Pidge released the emergency brake and they slowly moved forward. She smiled with glee, bouncing in her seat.

“Chill, we got a lot to learn. Step on the gas,” Keith said.

“Which one is that?”

“The left one.”

Pidge slammed her foot on the brake, lurching them to a halt. Hunk squealed and held his mocha comically high in his hands to keep it balanced and from overflowing and Lance shouted. “The gas is right you dipshit!” he yelled at Keith.

“Fuck sometimes I don’t know right from left, I get them mixed up!” he shouted back.

“Who doesn’t know right from left?!”

“Hey!” Pidge shouted. “In case you forgot, _I’m_ learning how to drive and I need to concentrate. Keith—” she said. “What do I do next?”

“Okay, slowly release the clutch the same time you’re stepping on the gas,” he directed.

“Which one’s the clutch?” she asked.

“The,” Keith hesitated. “Far left one.”

“And the gas is on my right?”

“Yes gas is on your right,” he assured.

Both Hunk and Lance realized something at the same time. “This car is automatic drive!” they shouted, a little too late. At the same time Pidge hit the gas, she also released the brake, charging them forward and tires peeling against the asphalt. Hunk squealed again as he tried to cover his drink with his mouth to keep it from spilling over and Lance threw out every curse word he had at his arsenal.

Fuck Keith and his over-qualified ass. Lance was taking over. “That’s it!” Lance said, when Pidge finally found the brakes. He pushed open the door and kicked it out. He got out and thumped on the passenger side window. “Keith, get out, I’m teaching Pidge to drive.”

Keith grumbled under his breath and groaned as he sat next to Hunk, who looked at him over his cup, nodding in welcome. **"** Welcome to the backseat, where all are doomed and terrified,” Hunk said.Lance watched Keith smack the back of his head repeatedly against the headrest and grinned.

“Okay nena,” he said. “It’s my turn. Now go ahead and keep your foot over the _left_ pedal, and release it slowly to move forward.”

“Oh my Luke I can’t watch anymore I’m too scared,” Hunk said from the back and Pidge got a panicked look on her face. After a little convincing, she trusted him enough to let go of the brake. They inched slowly forward, and a sigh of relief dropped Pidge's shoulders about two inches. He got Pidge to use the gas and told her to weave left and right, slowly and with intent. To be totally honest, he was an amazing fucking teacher. Why hadn’t they done this before, let Lance just take over and show Pidge the fine ways of the wheel? Honestly he was a fucking  genius she’d be pro in no time.

Pidge braked a little suddenly and Hunk squeaked. “Oh Hagar and Sarah, I am so terrified.”

Pidge scoffed from the front and Lance watched in the mirror as Keith frowned, staring at Hunk.

“What’s with the religious names?” Keith asked. “And like, do you _not_ fucking curse? Ever?”

“I’m Christian,” he said. “And I try not to take the Lord’s name in vain but his disciples on the other hand? Yeah they’re fair game as far as I’m concerned.”

“You’re Christian?” Keith asked, a little wary. “Like how much?”

“Pretty much all?” Hunk responded. “My parents are actually back in the Philippines, doing the Lord’s mission by providing food and shelter to those who need it there. I’ll be totally honest and say my parents are a little harsher than I am when it comes to giving testimony, like I don’t agree with their superior ideology and I'm super egalitarian about practicing worship but like they’re definitely doing the Lord’s charitable work over there, dude. But I will never enforce my ideals on you, if that’s like, what you’re concerned about.”

Keith hesitated but then shrugged and settled. “Nah dude, it’s cool, I trust you.”

“Are you religious?” Hunk asked curiously, and Lance rose up to the plate.

“Oh yeah,” he said, swinging his bat and getting ready to pound that sucker out of the park. “He’s Jewish,” Lance shrugged easily and settled into his seat.

“Oh word?” Hunk said, nudging Keith with his elbow, who was glaring daggers at Lance through his headrest. “That’s great man, shalom aleichem.”

Keith rolled his eyes and punched Lance’s seat, which he totally did not appreciate because he was giving Pidge some sage advice about the best way to tailgate people to get them out of your lane. “I’m not Jewish,” he told Hunk truthfully.

“Yes,” Lance assured Hunk, turning around in his seat. “He is, in fact, I personally attended his bar mitzvah and he played Led Zeppelin the whole time.” He shrugged. “If that doesn’t convince you nothing will.”

“Fuck you Lance,” Keith said, flicking his ear from behind. “If I’m Jewish you’re a fairy.”

“I mean I _am_ gay,” Lance said, and Pidge groaned.

“You asshats,” she growled. “I’m trying to learn how to drive and Lance you won’t stop fucking flirting with Keith, if you want to so badly get in the back seat _now_ because I want to learn how to fucking drive already!”

Lance’s mouth dropped, and what the fuck had she just said about _flirting_ ? “The hell Pidge? I’m not _flirting_ with Keith! He’s my best friend!”

“Yeah and I’m Moby Dick. Switch seats!”

Lance groaned and got out of the car when Pidge stopped it and wouldn’t move before they complied. Hunk entered the front seat and sat down, still clutching his extra hot non-fat extra whip mocha in his hands.

Pidge barely pressed her foot to the gas and Hunk was already sweating. “Slow down, little dude,” he said, gripping his cup so hard Lance was surprised it hadn’t burst open yet. “We’re in a parking lot. Safety first. Does everyone have their seatbelts on?”

“Yes, mom,” Lance said in a falsetto voice, and lying. Keith punched him in the arm.

“I don’t believe in religion,” said Pidge as she flicked her left blinker on and turned slowly around a line of cars. “I do believe in spirituality though. Like, we only understand four percent of the universe. You can’t just have the guts to say there’s nothing out there,” she sighed, shaking her head. “Although, of course, religion, we all know, is just a method of government to entrap society into roles which aid and benefit the social structure—”

“Whatever Miss Spiritual Communist,” said Lance. His ass was hurting from Pidge’s too-sudden brakes and he had to pee after that giant unicorn shit he’d inhaled twenty minutes ago. “But there is definitely a God out there, and he can’t help you with this because you are the _worst_ driver and _can you please go faster than two miles per hour I gotta pee.”_

“Oh man,” Hunk laughed without humor. “Don’t even doubt him, we should pull over and find a bathroom otherwise, it’s going to be the botanical gardens all over again.”

“What happened at the botanical gardens?” Keith asked, curious and ignoring Lance’s shoves.

“Well Jewish Keith,” Lance said through gritted teeth, “nothing happened because Hunk and I _agreed_ we would never mention it again.”

“Christ I am not Jewish,” Keith said, backhanding Lance’s leg to get it off him.

“You know,” Pidge said, still in her own sweet and backward world. “Spiritual communism doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Lance, you might actually be on to something.”

“Shut up Pidge,” Keith said. “What happened at the botanical gardens Hunk? Tell me and I’ll tell you all about...Hanukkah.”

“Oh word,” said Hunk happily. “I dig that you’d share your experiences with me. Well, we went to the gardens—”

“Hunk no, fuck this, Keith stop this—”

“And Lance had like a million cups of coffee and that giant papaya for breakfast that morning—”

“Oh I love papayas,” interrupted Pidge, while taking a right hand turn.

“Yeah I know they’re great and then so Lance totally had to like _you know_ and so we got like halfway to the car—”

“Oh my god Hunk—Hunk no stop everything—” he begged, pushing Keith’s face toward the door and wrestling to get his mouth shut. He tried to kick Hunk’s seat but his legs were contorted, acting kind of like when spaghetti all stuck together after a night in the fridge.

“And Lance couldn’t take it anymore so he—”

“HUNK SHUT UP!” Lance let go of Keith and threw his hands forward, shoving Hunk in the seat before him. Hunk’s seat shuddered and Hunk dropped his coffee in surprise, the hot liquid sloshing everywhere from the window to the center partition.

Hunk screamed. Pidge began panicking during the noise and stepped harshly on the gas, unintentionally sending them careening straight toward a thick brick wall.

Everyone began to holler like Satan had taken over and was selling hell hounds at lemonade stands. With the sudden jolt forward and without Lance’s hands to grab him—it’d been a dumbass move to not wear a seatbelt, but Pidge had been going so slow dude how could they have guessed she’d suddenly start channeling Dale Earnhardt Jr.?—Keith flew forward. He smacked into the back of Hunk’s seat and then bounced back, and his face landed directly into Lance’s lap, nose first, swan dive, right on his dick.

“What the fuck Keith take me out to dinner first!” Lance screamed. Keith bolted up so fast, face as red as his jacket. “Pray to Jewish god we’re gonna die!”

“Shut up!” screamed Pidge, clutching to the wheel for dear life and slamming on the brakes and turning _,_ creating an awful screeching noise as their speed lurched from sixty to zero in seconds while the car swiveled on its side and tottered dangerously to the right.

“You fucking commie pull the car over!” shouted Lance.

“I fucking told you I’m not Jewish!” yelled Keith one last time.

“I can’t feel my legs!” hollered Hunk, and when the car stopped inches from the wall, Lance pulled up the emergency brake. Everyone slumped into their seats, panting, gasping, and in Hunk’s case, whimpering softly.

Lance turned to Keith and backhanded him in the chest with a little slap. Keith turned to him, cheeks still pink from hollering, but Lance still thought he saw a tinge of embarrassment, and it looked kind of good on him.

“So?” Lance asked seriously. Keith narrowed his eyes. “How’d you like Lancito? That small taste enough for you?”

“Lance!” Everyone cried in the car at the same time. “Fuck you asshat—” “—Show some fucking class, dumbass—” “—Did I miss something?—”

Keith drove them home and they all watched Speed, making jokes, pulling Pidge’s hair, and eventually Shiro assured her he’d take her out to learn how to drive tomorrow.

And that ended up being a whole other story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [LIKE LADY GODIVA](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HgzGwKwLmgM)


	9. A Helping Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The One Where Keith Meets Coran And Comes To An Awful Realization

“So you go out running every day. Is that right?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Keith responded. “Pretty much.”

He scratched his cheek, which was itching from the sweat dripping from the hat the guy—what was his name again? Cory or something?—had given him to wear. It was around noon now, they’d been out here for an hour but yet to fire a single shot.

“Well that’s great,” Cory said. “Staying physically fit is of great importance while you’re young especially, because I’ll tell you, things don’t always stay as tight as you’d like them to.” He clicked his tongue and Keith was kind of feeling like this guy was having a conversation with someone else. Or at least _should_ be having with someone else.

“Uh, right,” Keith said, but his filler comments went unnoticed.

“Why, when I was a lad,” Cory went on. Or maybe it was Kirren? Fuck Keith had totally forgotten. “I used to drink beer all throughout the night and be ready and able by morning to take out the sheep for their grazing, and now! I can barely drink my evening glass of scotch without taking a tums before bed.”

Keith nodded and scratched his neck, wiping the sweat off after with the back of his hand. He readjusted his gun, as it’d grown a little sticky remaining motionless at his side. The plastic was coated in Keith’s sweat, and while he wasn’t a Nancy Boy like some blue-eyed dipshits, knowing he hadn’t showered in more than a day, after an hour run and now baking in the sun without a shirt on, it didn’t sit too great.

Keith reached over and grabbed the beer Kirren—no wait, it was Conan, definitely Conan—had provided for him as a bribe. Honestly Keith was still wondering what had really made him sit down in a strange neighbor’s yard to shoot squirrels. No way it could’ve been for some beer.

Keith had managed two years living with Shiro and never met any neighbors. They came and talked to Shiro sometimes, but Keith usually stayed out of sight and mind when that happened. Until now, that is.

Well, he had met Pidge when he'd first arrived, but she and the Holts weren’t neighbors so much as extended family at this point. Matt and Shiro were attached at the hip when he was around, and Pidge had somehow worked her way into their lives like fucking gum on a shoe. Except, it was more like she was the shirt in your closet you had no idea how it made its way in there, but damn if it isn’t the most comfortable thing you own now.

But now he was sitting here with a dude who rambled about everything from sheep to chorus lines and Keith was really starting to rethink his life decisions.

“And so then I came out of the hot tub, naked as a newborn babe, and I said to that judge—”

“Keith?!” he heard a familiar shout.

“Oh thank fucking christ,” Keith said quietly through gritted teeth. “Yo! Lance!” he called out.

Lance’s head popped out from behind the fence, peeking curiously into the yard. When he laid his eyes on Keith, his mouth fell open, and he dropped back behind the fence.

The little shit started laughing like he’d knew every present under the Christmas tree.

“Lance,” Keith ground out again. “Did you need something?”

“Yeah,” Lance said, popping up from behind the fence with laughter still in his voice. “A fucking camera.”

There was a bit of shuffling from the other side and Keith fiddled with his BB-gun while Lance took his time getting over, avoiding eye-contact with Conan. Lance jumped over the fence and landed pretty clean, probably from all the times he’d jumped down from his room on the second floor while he was at his old place, to hang out with Keith.

Funny, Keith thought, it almost felt like he hung out with Lance more _before_ he’d moved in. Now with Hunk, Pidge and Shiro taking up Lance’s attention, Keith had kind of gone by the wayside.

Keith shook off the thought and frowned when Lance got closer. Lance held up his phone and snapped a picture of Keith, smiling a little too mischievously for Keith’s liking. Dude was probably Snapchatting.

“I can’t believe how redneck you look right now,” Lance said as he messaged the photo to everyone he knew and more, probably. Lance was shitty like that. “No shirt, Texans cap, _jorts_.” Lance snickered and went around Keith, getting out of the way of Keith’s aiming range. “God is so good to me. Who are you?” he directed to Conan.

“I happen to be the owner of this residence young man,” he said, glare fuming and moustache puckering in Lance’s direction. “And I’ll have you know I don’t take quite kindly to intruders. I’ll forgive you just now because your friend Kim here—”

“It’s Keith,” Keith said, frowning.

“—has been helping me keep away these DADs squirrels,” he said sniffing and standing suddenly, shooting a few rounds at the tree.

“Oh right there!” he shouted, getting closer. “These bloody beasts!” Keith aimed his gun at the tree, more out of instinct than actually wanting to hit the thing, and watched as the tree shivered as the squirrel hopped out of its branches and toward the safety of the fence.

Into their yard, figured.

“Bugger!” Conan said, sitting back down in his seat with a humph and a grunt. “Eating all my almonds. I could make some bloody fine almond butter with that if I had the bloody chance!”

“Almond butter,” said Lance. “Cool.”

Next thing Keith knew Lance grabbed Keith’s gun and hoisted it on his shoulder. Keith watched as Lance stood with one foot in front, tucked the gun into his shoulder and smirked. He shot every large branch closest to him dead on, showcasing near-perfect aim—Keith wanted to roll his eyes, _show off_ , but damn it was pretty fucking impressive—then took the gun off his shoulder and cracked his neck.

He shoved the gun back into Keith’s hands, who growled. Apple shiner.

“See sir,” Lance said, hip leaning to one side as he watched the neighbor inspect the shots. “Your first mistake was choosing Keith as your partner here. Now Keith’s good for some things, like a quick getaway and having a pretty face around to distract the cops while you steal some beer—”

“Fuck you I am _handsome_ not pretty—”

“—but if you want a team sharpshooter, well, that job belongs to me.” He walked up to the guy and held out his hand. “The name’s Lance, how’s it?”

“Well, lad!” said Co...fuck Keith forgot again. “That was a rather spectacular show!” He shook Lance’s hand and his eyes practically gleamed as he thought about all the squirrels he’d annihilate by sundown. “I’m Coran, this one’s neighbor,” he gestured to Keith, who laid back in the lounge chair, having given up on being included in the conversation, and drank his beer.

His peach-infused Sierra Nevada IPA. Fuck. That _is_ exactly how he’d ended up here.

And Coran? What kind of fucking name was that? Keith wasn’t even sorry he hadn’t remembered it, how the hell was anyone supposed to remember a name like that.

“Well I’d be happy to help,” Lance said, brightening immediately. “Got an extra seat?”

“Wait right there, back in a jimmy-pot jam-packed jerk-off!” Coran ran around the back of his house, leaving a mildly stunned Lance and a perfectly aware Keith. He’d spend nearly two hours with the dude and the story with the judge had been just the tip of the iceberg.

“So you’ve been here for, how long?” Lance asked, dropping into the seat next to Keith and snatching Coran’s plastic gun, inspecting the chamber for rounds. Keith wanted to punch him a little, but he settled with rolling his eyes.

“Too fucking long,” Keith said, taking off his hat to wipe the sweat from his forehead. He looked back to Lance, who was staring at him like he’d forgotten him. The fuck? “What?” Keith asked defensively. “He nabbed me right after I was coming back from my run, he offered me beer in exchange for some ‘neighborly help.’ I didn’t realize I’d be playing Tonto to his fucking Lone Rancher.”

Lance’s eyes were wide from the information overload, but one small smile quirked the left side of his mouth up. “Ranger.”

Keith blinked. “Huh?”

“Lone Ranger, it’s Tonto and the fucking Lone Ranger.”

Keith groaned and shoved the hat over his face. “What-fucking-ever.”

Coran came back, toting another lawn chair and a fresh six-pack of beer. “Now lad, are you 18? Back in the home country 18 is the limit, and I adhere to the law quite firmly I’ll have you know,” Coran said, eyeing him critically like his glare was a form of polygraph testing.

Lance cracked open a can and took a sip. “Totally 18,” he lied, but Keith hardly corrected him. He’d be 18 in a matter of weeks anyway, and he wasn’t a snitch. “But um, you know the law here is 21 right?” Oh and there it was, Lance shooting himself in the fucking foot.

“Don’t much give a damn for your laws here. Did you know it’s legal for a fourteen-year-old girl to be married here?” Coran scrunched up his nose and shook his head. “Barbaric I say,” he nodded to the boys, lifting his own can. “Cheers!”

“Guess that means we can finally sell Pidge into an arranged marriage,” Lance joked. Keith punched him in the arm, not really for Pidge’s sake, but because he was leaning way too close to him, even sitting in his own seat.

“So you’re a new one, eh?” said Coran, peeping through the gage on his gun. “I haven’t noticed you hanging around here before. What brings you to our ‘hood,’ as the kids say.”

Lance blinked, then grinned. “Oh you know, just hanging out with my buddy Keith here,” Lance grabbed Keith’s gun, who readily handed it over. Guns weren’t really his thing, he was more of a close-combat kind of guy. He sipped his beer and watched as Lance animatedly fabricated a lie he’d forget by the end of an hour.

Honestly the things Lance did for fun sometimes. Shit.

He watched Lance lean back in the chair and shoulder the gun. He shrugged at Keith and wove his tale. “Keith and I go way back, boy scouts. Kid couldn’t light a fire if he was on fire.”

That just made no sense, but Keith just took another sip of his beer and waited for this to be over. Or for him to fall asleep, anything. The sun was baking his front and his backside was wet with sweat. Life was miserable.

“Anyway I took the poor thing under my wing and ever since then it’s just been a series of trials and tribulations. You know,” he leaned forward, toward Coran in a loud whisper. “I think without me? He’d probably roll into a ditch and just die. Just lay there and never think to get out, he’s kind of stupid like tha—”

Keith pretended to stretch and swiped Lance’s elbow, which was leaning against the chair and helping to prop him up. Lance’s elbow dropped and he smacked his chin on the armrest. Keith grinned while Lance glowered at him. Lance turned back to Coran to finish his make believe world where he was actually useful to someone.

Fucking as if, Keith thought, dropping the hat to cover his eyes as he settled back in the chair.

“Anyway,” Lance said, voice slightly tense from irritation with Keith. “That’s me, just a kind soul willing to help out any _dumb_ animal.” He changed his voice, sounding chipper and fake as fuck. “What about you? You lived here long?”

“Oh can’t say that I have,” he said. “I only moved into this place last year. I grew up in Australia you know, counting sheep while awake, while asleep, and it dawned on me,” he said, looking out into the yard, at the trees, looking as profound as he probably had making his discovery as a young man. “I just had to fucking get out of there. Do you have any idea how badly sheep shit smells at five in the morning? I do, and those are moments I can’t get back.

“Anyway, I came here, to the land of plenty, and ended up working on Wall Street,” Coran said, sipping his beer while Lance’s eyes bulged open.

“Um, did you say Wall Street?” Lance asked. Even Keith perked up, interested.

“Oh yes,” Coran nodded, tapping the beer can against his hairy knee. “About 15 years. Made millions. Did tons of cocaine, _so_ much cocaine,” he rolled his head back in emphasis. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to wake up next to an elephant, wearing an Evel Knievel jumpsuit with a fistful of diamonds in your briefs on a boat on the Atlantic?”

Lance blinked. “Um. No?”

Coran looked to Keith, silently posing the same question. “N-no,” he said, just to get the guy from staring him into the ground.

“I do!” he said jauntily, slapping his knee. “Anyway, those drugs will kill you if you’re not careful. The day I got back to land and said my goodbyes to Nelly—the elephant—I told myself: ‘Coran, you get your life together!’

“But then I got into E, and it was a whole thing, don’t really want to talk about it but I may have served a few years in prison and shanked a guy. Wasn’t my fault.”

He looked cheerfully at Lance and Keith, both stunned and at attention. Keith had heard the guy talk crazy all afternoon, but now some of those stories were sounding pretty fucking plausible.

“And so! Got out, made a new man of myself, and here I am, living the life by the sunny bay, and living my life to the fullest, doing what I always dreamed of.”

Lance swallowed. “And uh, what’s that?”

“Interior design.”

Keith and Lance exchanged glances. Enough was enough. “Right,” Lance said, aiming his gun and shooting a squirrel dead in the face. Keith hadn’t even seen it. It fell to the ground with an anti-climactic flump, and Coran jumped up from his chair with glee.

“Lookit that!” he exclaimed. “You shot the bloody beast! The damn bastard, I hope your children learn to stay away from the house of Coran, and have them tell all their bloody friends, too!”

“So,” Lance dragged out, clearly uncomfortable now. “Nice to meet you,” Keith nodded fervently behind him, standing up, still a little groggy from sitting so for so long. “Keith and I gotta scram though—more boy scout duties to attend to—but you have a nice day and uh, thanks for the uh, stories.”

Lance shoved the gun into Coran’s hands and sprinted toward the fence, vaulting over it with ease.

Keith placed his baseball cap, the one Coran had given him to borrow for the duration of their hunt, onto the chair, nodding to Coran awkwardly. Coran reached out and grabbed Keith’s arm before he could make a getaway, smiling and pointing toward the fence.

“A bit of a rascal, but I’d say he’s a good one,” Coran said, speaking about Lance. He chuckled and released Keith. “You two, what a nice pair you make!’

Keith frowned, but nodded to Coran as he waved him off. Keith hopped the fence and made his way into the house, ignoring Lance’s lengthy chatter about the crazy neighbor next door to Shiro, who was just now waking up and eating breakfast.

“What?” Shiro said as he opened a lid of tupperware with leftover mac and cheese. “Coran’s been here for years. He’s an old English teacher, has been for decades. I don’t know what you’re talking about, fucking Wall Street.” Shiro used his fingers to pick a giant lump of mac and cheese and shoved it into his mouth, chuckling. “Oh he got you good. Suckers.”

“What?!” Lance screamed, and Keith figured taking a shower was all he could handle right now.

Keith spent the rest of the day hanging out in his room. It was too fucking hot to do anything else, and he had practice tomorrow at the stadium, so he figured it be better if he just hang.

When Lance finally came into their room close to midnight, Keith was nearly asleep.

“Psst,” Lance whispered, but super _fucking_ loud. “Keith? You awake?”

“I am now, ass hat,” he mumbled into his pillow.

“Hey, Keith?” Lance asked again, and Keith was _this close_ to shoving his pillow in his face. “Are you like, cool, dude?”

Keith lifted his head. He knew Lance was serious when he didn’t even make fun of the more-than-probable halo of fluffy hair surrounding Keith’s head. “What?”

“Are you like, are you _okay_?” Lance asked, sitting on his own bed. “You’ve been, fucking, like, _quiet_ lately.” He paused, then looked back up at Keith. “Are you pissed because I hang out with Hunk all the time now?”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Not everything’s about you, fuckwad.”

Lance blushed. “I know,” he said. “But I also know something’s wrong. What is it?”

Keith looked at him. He hadn’t changed into his pajamas but he had done his usual face whatever routine, and his skin was practically glowing in the moonlight. His eyes tracked Keith nervously, going from his feet to his waist to his chin, but never into his eyes.

“I just—” Keith began. “I feel like … I’m missing something,” he gripped his sheets and stared at the ceiling. “I feel like this whole racing thing? I don’t know if I’m doing it right. Or living with Shiro? I feel like I’m taking up space without, like, without—”

“Without what?” Lance asked, staring at him intently. Now Keith felt his own face glow beet red and he turned away from Lance, tucking the sheets around himself as a barrier.

“Nothing, it’s fucking nothing,” he dismissed. But as Keith knew well, Lance wasn’t very good at letting things go.

“No, what did you mean—” Lance said, and pulled Keith toward him. Lance looked at him with those big blue doe eyes and Keith hated that because it made it hard to look away. Like this, he looked. Interested. And sure Lance was his best friend, he’d been interested in things Keith had said before, but now, Keith felt—God that ugly word— _vulnerable_.

“Whatever,” Keith shrugged and tried to turn over in his bed. “Nevermind.”

“No hey—” Lance said, throwing out an arm and pulling Keith back toward him. Keith threw Lance’s arm off him but Lance wasn’t having any of it. He stretched over and ended up half on Keith’s bed, grabbing his arms and leaning over him awkwardly, crossing over from his bed to Keith’s.

He had that look in his eye and Keith had to physically stop himself from headbutting Lance, and instead he did something that was new to him. He just … floated.

“No dude,” said Lance. “I’m your best friend. If you can’t tell me then fuck everything and what the hell am I even doing here. You wanna leave? Where? What do you want to do?” Keith pursed his lips and turned his head to the side. Anything to stop the awkward feeling bubbling in his chest, seeing Lance reach over him and want to talk about their fucking feelings. About Keith’s fucking feelings, god this was getting worse by the minute.

“You can do it you know.”

That grabbed Keith’s attention. “Do … what?” he asked, hesitantly. Waiting for the moment the zombie reared its ugly head and bit him in the throat.

“Whatever it is you want,” Lance said, and that wasn’t something Keith had been expecting. “Keith I’ve known you my whole life, and fucking, jokes fucking aside, I’ve seen you go through hell and back, and you’re still the best damn person I know. I fucking,” Lance swallowed and let go of Keith’s arms, but he still leaned against Keith’s bed and he still had Keith’s attention. “I fucking admire you. You’re a goddamn inspiration and a badass and a motherfucking good guy. I just—”

Lance swallowed and looked away. Then he looked back at Keith, eyes fierce and confident, and a smile on his face. Keith felt his whole heart lighten with that smile. “I just don’t see a little self-doubt getting in your way.”

Fuck.

Keith was in love with Lance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First: [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a_XgQhMPeEQ) for this chapter. 
> 
> All right y'all, in two days you're getting the "Season Finale!" It's told from Shiro's perspective, as a special, and we meet another member of the infamous crew (about fucking time).
> 
> Just a head's up, Season Two is really, really, not coming along as I'd hoped. So the steady chapters coming every two days might not happen. A lot of plot, buildup, and new characters are coming in Season Two, and trying to get everything I want in there _plus_ keeping my page count at nine pages is just. Difficult.
> 
> Anyways, as always you guys are fantastic for kudos-ing and reviewing and being super kind. My door is always open to discussion and criticism, never hesitate to question why I'm writing what I'm writing. Have a stellar week and see you in two days!


	10. The New Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The One Where The Neighborhood Changes

No one noticed the day the “Pending: For Sale” sign went down, but everyone noticed the day the moving van rolled in.

The old lady stood on her porch, eyeing the truck with such a look of disdain even Shiro was hesitant to say good morning.

“I see you there, anak,” she called to Shiro. Shiro waved his hand and tried to give Hunk’s grandmother a nice smile. She wasn’t having it.

“Nice morning, isn’t it Mrs. Torres. Enjoying the nice breeze today?” he asked.

She spat into the bushes. “Every day gets hotter and more unbearable than the last.” She eyed him and Shiro kind of knew what a deer in the headlights felt like. Only question now was would she swerve or go in for the kill. “Your little friend, he is well?”

Shiro smiled, feeling a little more comfortable now that the subject was off him. “Oh yeah, he’s doing great. He and Hunk are nearly inseparable, thanks for allowing us Hunk’s company,” Shiro nodded to her home, referring to Hunk. “He’s a good kid, he’s got a real good heart, just like my kids do.”

“But they are not yours?” she asked, fixing her eye on him again.

“Um, no,” he said.

She harrumphed. “How did you get so many children into your home? What are you, their pimp?”

Shiro truly, _truly_ did not know how to respond to that. “Uh, no. No. Um, Keith is um, my foster—well, it’s a little complicated, but we’re actually quite distantly related, a cousin several times removed, anyway I didn’t know he existed for a while … we found each other. At the right time.”

Shiro swallowed, and the old lady’s eyes willed him to dig deeper. He wasn’t the world’s smoothest talker. He wasn’t used to being put on a stage, all lights on him with an action sign blaring at him from across the room.

“Pidge is um, the neighbor beside Mr. Wimbledon-Smythe. Her parents are out of town on an extended work-related trip and since her brother is deployed overseas, I told them I’d take care of her in the meantime, so she didn’t have to miss out on her summer science program.”

Shiro took a breath, and laughed nervously. “After awhile it was easier to have her stay with us, just felt like I could protect her better that way. Didn’t seem right just leaving a sixteen-year-old all alone in a house.”

The old lady tut-tutted and rolled her tongue around in her mouth. She sniffed and looked away from Shiro and toward the moving van, stationary on the house across from her own. No one had unloaded it yet, and Shiro had been waiting to see if the new neighbors needed any help. He’d been standing on the curb for the better part of an hour with his coffee, but he had yet to see anything.

Except the old lady. Judging him in all her glory.

He smiled into his mug as he took a sip of long-cold coffee. Or rather, assessing him. Maybe he wouldn’t be so different when he was her age, with grandkids of his own, next to a young neighbor with an unkempt lawn and scars on his face.

No, Shiro thought with a deep sigh and a loss of tension. A sad pang in his gut made itself known whenever he thought about the scars on his body, maybe he wouldn’t act so differently either.

“You keep them with you,” the old lady said, slowly enunciating the words, as if she were hearing her thoughts aloud for the first time. “Because you care about them.”

Shiro blinked a few times, then looked from her to the house across the street. He nodded his head. “Well, yes.”

The old lady let out a deep breath from her nose. She pointed to him with a bony old finger, swollen from arthritis. “For a Japanese,” she said, “I trust you.”

If Shiro had been someone else, he would’ve rolled his eyes. He would’ve called her an old bag and maybe hurled some insults, because what the fuck it was the twenty-first century, and it was time to move on from old notions of ‘us’ versus ‘them.’

But Shiro had fought in a war and nearly come back in a body bag. He’d seen some things he tried to forget, and some things he couldn’t forget. He’d seen Keith the first day they’d met, bags under his eyes and a line of tension in his thin shoulders, a sixteen-year-old who had no business being so wary of the world.

The old lady trusting him, despite what she’d seen and heard her whole life, seemed like a pretty good start to him.

Shiro smiled at her, and nodded his head in a bow, holding it for a moment before meeting her eyes again. “I hope I stay worthy of that trust, Mrs. Reyes.”

The old lady’s mouth was in a firm line, but her aged, watery eyes held a touch of mirth to them, if Shiro was trusting his own instincts correctly.

“I do, too,” she said.

A door slammed and Shiro looked back across the way, to see the red door of the newly sold house open and present their new neighbor.

Shiro nearly dropped his coffee when he saw what he did.

His new neighbor was a woman, maybe around Shiro’s age, maybe a little older, with legs as long as sunflower stems and skin the sun loved dearly. It was a dark brown, and it reminded Shiro of when he brewed his coffee the slow way, with a French Press, and the coffee would get darker and darker as the minutes ticked by.

She walked to the van and began to pull up her long hair, the color of—goddamn it, _seriously?_ —snow. She tucked it into a bun and hoisted the door of the back of the van up, placing her hands on her hips and assessing the contents inside.

Shiro swallowed. It’d been a long time since a pretty lady like that had registered in his field of vision.

The old lady sniffed behind him, “I was prettier when I was her age.”

Shiro gave her a look and raised his eyebrows. The old lady chuckled and threw a hand out at him. “Oh I’m teasing. What? Because I’m old I can’t tell a joke anymore?” She laughed. “Go, little boy soldier. Help the girl.” She shook her head and began to head inside, muttering to herself about new beginnings around the corner.

Shiro braced himself and then set his coffee down on the curb.

He jogged to the van, to the woman, and waved to get her attention so he wouldn’t startle her. She had jumped into the back of the van and was moving things around when Shiro caught her notice.

“Oh,” she said. “Hello.” She smiled and Shiro nearly swallowed his tongue.

“Hi,” he said, and _guh_ , so far so good, keep it together, Tiger. “I’m uh, your neighbor, I guess? I’m Shiro, I live across the way just there—” he pointed to the house, and seriously thought about taking Lance and Hunk out to a lobster dinner as thanks for getting the house in a decent state. God forbid he’d still had the mess of a lawn from before.

“Oh, well it’s lovely to meet you,” she said, smiling a little. “Sorry I’m just,” she waved her hands a little, gesturing to the back of the van. “Getting settled here. Moving, such fun times, eh?”

“Yeah,” he laughed breathlessly in response, wiping his sweaty hands on his shirt. “We just had a new roommate move in, luckily he didn’t have much, whereas,” he rubbed his hair and begged himself to stop talking so much. “You’re definitely moving into a whole house! Um, or are you? Is it, uh, just you or do you have … parents, a—” he swallowed. “Friend? Husband?”

She smiled at him, again, and Shiro kind of couldn’t take it anymore. His head was definitely a twist from popping off and splattering all over the walls like a poorly opened bottle of Champagne.

“Just me, on my own, for the first time!” she said.

“Oh well, congrats!” Shiro winced. ‘Congrats’? Really? Goddamn.

“Thank you,” she said, then coughed a little awkwardly. “But I do have a lot to get done today, so maybe we might be able to … speak again, another time perhaps?”

Oh God, Shiro was totally bugging the shit out of her, wasn’t he?

“Oh actually that’s why I’m here,” he said, blushing like a rose in spring, fuck. “I was going to see if you needed any help moving. Tables. Books. Chairs. I’m uh,” he held up his hand, his right hand, and looked at the prosthetic like he was seeing it for the first time. Shit. He put it back down. “Handy.”

“Oh,” the woman bit her lip and staring at the furniture she had. “Actually, that would be quite lovely if you might be able to help with a few things, I promise not to work you too hard.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Shiro waved his hand, then jumped into the van beside her. “The kids don’t wake up till noon really, so I have the whole morning clear. Whatever you need help with, really, Miss…?” he asked. He still hadn’t actually formally instigated introductions. God, what a loser—he wanted to smack his forehead but she was already reaching out her hand.

Her eyes flicked to his prosthetic, and she smiled warmly, grabbing it and shaking it firmly, from what Shiro could feel. A firm handshake. What a babe.

“Allura,” she said, and didn’t that just say it all?

Shiro helped her drag everything into the open house, following her instructions to just drop most of it all straight to the back beside the kitchen bar. Shiro noticed the place was sizably bigger than his own. Not that it mattered to Shiro, his was only a rental anyway, and home space wasn’t something he really cherished. It was the large yard that had gotten Shiro to sign the lease agreements, but then, the landlord wasn’t too intent on keeping it fixed up, like it stated in the contract.

Shiro shook out his head and dropped a box of books onto the kitchen counter, so Allura wouldn’t throw out her back trying to pick it up off the floor again. None of that extra stuff mattered to him anyway. As long as Keith (and now Lance, and Pidge) had a roof over their head, that’s what mattered. It was more than he’d had growing up a lot of the time.

He helped Allura until around eleven in the morning, when Lance and Keith finally came out, with Hunk behind them. They were carrying the usual supplies: blankets, towels, an umbrella for shade, as they set up on the lawn.

“Oh damn!” Lance called from across the court, and Shiro already knew he wanted to die. “Work, daddy, work!”

“Lance!” he called. “Shut up, all right? Not today,” he shouted back. “God,” he said more quietly to just himself. “Not today.”

“Shake it, Papa Bear,” Lance called back, slapping his own ass. Shiro couldn’t even look at Allura to see her response.

“I wanna see you sweat, Shirogane,” yelled Keith, drinking the coconut juice Hunk handed to him.

“Work for that rent,” Pidge hollered, mouth half full with watermelon.

“Uh, hi Shiro,” called Hunk. Shiro waved back to him.

“Hey, Hunk,” he called back, and sighed. He dropped the last box off in Allura’s living room, finally daring to look at her after all that.

“So that’s them, eh?” she smiled deviously and Shiro quirked an eyebrow. “I’ve seen a lot worse,” she laughed. “I’m working on getting my secondary education teaching credential, after all. You should’ve seen the last lot I had to work with. Took me a whole month to get them to stop cat-calling me.”

“Only a month?” Shiro whistled. “I’ve been around these guys for two years, some of them.” He rubbed his neck and pointed his thumb at the door, pointing toward the demons who were still wolf-whistling on his damn lawn. Or the lawn he paid to rent, anyway. “The broody, curly haired one is Keith, the cousin of sorts I told you about, the others are a sort of.” Shiro thought. “Add ons.”

“Lost Boys, and all that?”

“Well, Lost Boys and Girl.”

“Sounds fun, oh,” she looked past Shiro at the door. Shiro turned around and saw the whole crew staring at them from the doorway.

“Damn,” Lance whistled, staring at Allura. “Am I sure I’m gay? Because this lady, pow pow!” Lance pretended to shoot a gun into his heart and half-fell onto Keith, who shoved him off.

“Yes you are gay dipshit,” Keith assured him, “or last night when you went on and on about Chris Hemsworth was just you torturing me out of spite.”

Lance hummed. “Well, a little of both I suppose.”

“Hello, ma’am, I’m Hunk,” said Hunk, waving and staying respectfully on her doorstep. “I live across the street, next to these guys. Would you like any further help on moving your stuff?”

“I’m Pidge, I live next door to you with my family,” interrupted Pidge before Allura could respond. “They’ve all abandoned me however, so now I live in squalor with these fools,” Pidge said it with such a serious expression even Shiro blinked. "Also, I'm just gonna say it—" Pidge turned her head and looked toward Keith. "Is she like, inhumanly attractive? Or are my eyes on the fritz?" She turned back to Allura. "Honestly lady you're either so pretty you're off the attractive meter or so not pretty that you're pretty."

Allura looked a cross between flattered and upset, and that's when Lance stepped forward and took her hand. He held it to his lips and gave it an air-kiss, all while looking as devious as a cat sporting a milk moustache. “I’m Lance and I think you’re beautiful and I want you to braid my hair and be my best friend, cause this one can’t braid for shit,” said Lance pointing to Keith, who shoved him again.

“Shiro I’m leaving, nice meeting you lady,” Keith said and left. Just. Just like that.

“Um,” said Shiro, “I’ll get these guys out of your hair. I’m sure you’d like to just have the rest of the day to yourself.”

She smiled and Shiro’s heart soared _just_ a little bit. “Thank you so much, Shiro, I truly appreciate you spending your morning off helping me to unpack. Perhaps I can return the favor and help you study? Maybe tomorrow evening?”

Shiro flustered, having totally forgotten he’d word-vomited about trying to finish getting his GED during their little chats while moving boxes and end tables. The studying wasn’t going great for him, he’d never truly gotten the hang of the stuff when he was a kid. He was more of a hands-on guy.

“Oh you don’t have to—”

“Actually,” interjected Pidge from the door, shoving her glasses up farther on her nose. “The guys and I are planning on having a video game smack off tomorrow night around eight, and that’s just not Shiro’s scene. Why doesn’t he come over here about then and you two can get neighborly.” She shrugged, far too innocently to get past Shiro, who knew exactly what she was doing. Her and Matt—cut from the same damn cloth.

“Oh that sounds lovely,” said Allura, gripping Shiro’s shoulder. “Thanks again. I really appreciate it. Tomorrow at eight then?”

Shiro looked into her blue eyes and took a breath.

“Sure,” he said unexpectedly. What? “See you then.” He blinked a few times and then walked away, toward the horrors he once called children. “Nicemeetingyoubye,” he said in a rush, waved, and then jogged across the street. He didn’t stop until the door was slammed behind him and he dropped into a chair at the kitchen table, head in his hands.

Fuck, what a morning.

“Don’t ever say I never did anything for you,” said Pidge as she walked through the door. She smacked her gum and walked away and Shiro didn’t have the energy but do anything but whine pathetically.

“Oh my god,” Lance cooed as he walked in the door. “You’re like so in love with her.”

Shiro blushed. “What the fuck I am not.” He motioned toward her house. “She’s new, she’s a neighbor, and she’s doing me a solid by helping me out with these courses.”

“You want to fucking marry her,” shouted Keith from his room.

“You want to have her brown babies, You want to be pregnant with her children and give birth to happy-fat-brown babies,” added Lance, sitting down at the table across from him.

“Fuck you, I don’t want to be pregnant with her— “ Shiro stopped himself and shook out his head. What the fuck, he did _not_ need to respond to that.

“You want her to take your virginity,” Lance said. “You want her to sing you to sleep at night. You want her to mix up your reds with your whites when doing your laundry.”

Shiro rubbed his prosthetic hand over his forehead and took in a deep breath. “You’re all terrible and I want you out of my house.” It did nothing to stop Lance from making baby cooing noises and patting Shiro’s belly like he was pregnant.

“Don’t worry brown babies,” Lance sang, “Shiro will be the best mommy in the world. Just don’t expect him to clean up anything. Be prepared to live in a giant trash can but don’t sweat the rest of it.”

“You’re a turd and I hate you.”

“Yeah, sure,” Lance shrugged, “but you love the new girl.”

The next day when the time swung around to go to Allura’s, Shiro grabbed his books and felt like a fucking school boy as he walked over to her house.

She was just as beautiful as she’d been the day before. She only looked a little different, her long hair billowing white curls down her back, smelling like herbs and spices—she’d made them dinner, Christ—and she wore a comfortable, simple long dress, the perfect thing to wear for a maybe-not-maybe-so date.

But Shiro didn’t remember much of the rest of his time with her that night, because about twenty minutes after he’d sat down at the table, there were several bangs on the door, followed by shouts.

Goddammit, Shiro thought, making his way to the door, they couldn’t fucking let him have one night? Shit, what was it now? Lance get his hand stuck in the garbage disposal again?

He opened the door and his whole countenance changed when he saw Keith in front of him, face crumpled in unexplained worry and tension.

“Shiro,” he rasped. “You’ve gotta come now.”

He grabbed Keith by the arm, steadying him as Keith bit his lip and slammed a fist into his own thigh. Pain always grounded Keith, and Shiro was growing more anxious by the second.

“Keith,” Shiro said, trying to keep his voice calm, directive. “Tell me exactly what’s happened. Is anyone hurt?”

Keith shook his head, taking a moment to readjust his emotions, anger turning to worry, turning back to anger. He looked up at Shiro.

“Gram-gram is dead,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter theme](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UQU4sIn96M4)
> 
>  
> 
> NEXT CHAPTER IS IN TWO DAYS DON'T KILL ME.


	11. The Next Step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The One Where Everyone Copes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Start by listening to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3qrKjywjo7Q)
> 
> Also I am getting way too many spoilers for season three from my friend at comic con and I CAN'T BREATHE (talk me down from the ledge here in the commmeeennnnntssssss #commentslut)
> 
> Also—*whispers loudly* comfort is platonicccccccc

Hunk stayed with them. He took Keith’s bed, so Keith slept with Shiro.

His hands shook and he felt like he was rocking the whole bed every time he tried to flip over and find sleep. Shiro was a giant rock beside him, a warm presence, but Keith couldn’t feel any of it because he could hear Hunk crying softly in the room next door, while Lance talked to him, hushed words filtering through the thin walls.

A hollowness entered Keith’s chest, and it felt like there was nothing inside his ribs. It felt like a blackhole had come in and was sucking in everything, and it was physically painful. Keith turned again, facing the ceiling. He wanted to look at Shiro, see if he was sleeping.

Why? Keith asked himself harshly. So he could talk to Shiro if he were awake? Tell him his goddamn feelings? Tell him whenever he closed his eyes he could see nothing but the ambulance that had taken his dead parents away?

Fucking weak, he thought as he punched his pillow with the back of his head again and forced his eyes open.

He turned on his side, but moments later he felt an arm around him. Keith grit his teeth as Shiro pulled him, spooning Keith like he was a goddamn little kid who had too much soda to be able to fall asleep.

He opened his mouth to tell him to stop, and he struggled in Shiro’s grasp, but even without his right arm available to him, Shiro gripped him closely, breath warming the back of his head.

Keith felt his vision cloud and he shoved his face into the pillow, willing the tears that streamed down his face to cut it the fuck out. He was a grown adult and adults didn’t cry over parents long dead. It wasn’t him Shiro should be comforting, it was fucking _Hunk_ , who’d found his grandmother on the couch and tried to wake her up from her afternoon nap, to tell her he was going over to hang with the weird neighbors.

Shiro didn’t squeeze him any tighter, but he adjusted his head, bringing it so Keith’s rested right under his chin. Shiro leaned over more, as if protecting Keith from falling rocks from the sky, and draped a leg over his hip.

Keith wiped his face furiously and turned over, ready to push Shiro away and tell him he didn’t need any goddamn coddling. But instead he gasped for breath and dug in further, pressing his nose to Shiro’s collar and directing his muted sobs into the fabric of his pajamas.

Shiro held on to Keith’s head, keeping it tucked in there. He felt like a refugee, like Shiro was muffling the crying to keep enemy outsiders from hearing. And it worked, thought Keith, clutching Shiro’s back and feeling a hundred degrees too hot to be comfortable, but feeling comfortable anyway.

Hunk stayed the next day, too. He cried a lot, and needed hugs a lot, which Lance and Shiro easily provided. Pidge wasn’t much of a physical comforter, but she was ready and willing when Hunk needed contact. She touched his arm, rubbed a shoulder, and just gave Hunk another reason to feel loved.

Keith wasn’t sure what to fucking do. He felt like he was on a movie set, and those marks on the ground telling actors where to go and where to perform their lines weren’t there for him. Some intern had fucked up Keith’s and he was just—out there. Trying to figure out what the fuck he should be doing.

He did a lot of hovering. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He was never the first to rush to Hunk when Hunk dropped a wooden spoon or needed a shoulder to cry on, but he was always in the room, like an awkward backup plan.

He was never the first to dive in for a hug either. Keith didn’t know if he’d be able to resurface for those, and he didn’t think it would do Hunk much good if Keith were the one blabbering and out of control. Not when Hunk needed the attention and focus right now.

So he remained goddamn useless. He barely saw Lance the whole day.

Lance. He went out that morning to get Hunk the baking supplies he needed to keep his hands occupied. Hunk baked so much they could’ve run a bakery out of their damn kitchen, and Lance figured that out too, taking Hunk down to various churches and homeless shelters to drop off everything Hunk baked.

For an hour after they did that, Hunk’s face had a kind of peace about it, and everyone in the house relaxed with him.

Then at night, Hunk cried. Lance comforted him every goddamn time. And Shiro comforted Keith every goddamn time too, during the times when Keith cried, and the times when he just stared at the ceiling, begging his mind to think about anything else except his mom and dad. Omma, Appa. He still fucking remembered those words.

“What happened to your parents?” Keith asked the second night, feeling brave, or just curious enough to be tactless maybe.

Shiro sighed into Keith’s hair.

“I don’t know,” he answered. Keith listened to Shiro’s breathing, in and out, each breath taking up about six long seconds. It was like counting sheep except better, somehow. “Probably still down south, somewhere. I don’t keep in touch with them.”

Keith didn’t say anything. Shiro rubbed his back and Keith clenched his hands into fists.

The time passed slowly. Hunk and Lance spent their time in the kitchen again the next day, cutting, baking and coping. Lance talked to Hunk about random interests, or stories about teachers he hated. Lance would joke and laugh, but it was always gently, like he was slowly coaxing Hunk out of his stupor. Hunk would laugh at Lance’s antics, and Lance would continue like a hamster in a wheel: joke—laugh—story—laugh.

The third night Keith and Shiro had to share a bed, Keith felt like he shouldn’t be there. He started to get up, go to the couch, but Shiro grabbed him by the t-shirt and gave him a look, so Keith stayed.

But he didn’t hold Keith that night. He gave him his space, sleeping on the far right side of the bed. Keith couldn’t tell if it felt better or worse.

The next day he had to go to the tracks. He wasn’t getting as much practice as he needed, which was shitty since they were literally mid season and he had some back-to-back races coming up in a few weeks.

He nodded to Lance on his way out. “Later,” he said. Lance nodded back. They didn’t see each other for the rest of the day.

That night he went up to the roof.

The familiarity of the rough tiles felt good on his hands, under his legs. He walked quietly up to the ridge and nearly fell off the roof when he saw Hunk sitting on the front side overlooking the neighborhood. He smiled at Keith, then turned back to the view. Keith wiped his hands on his jeans and sat down, beside Hunk, saying nothing.

“Coran’s a pretty nice guy,” said Hunk. “I gave him some of the extra cookies me and Lance made today, he liked them.” He turned to Keith and fixed him with a strange look. “Do you like my cookies?”

Keith blinked a few times, and wondered if he was blushing. “Uh, yeah. Yeah they’re good.”

Hunk clicked his tongue. “No you don’t. You never eat any.”

Keith shrugged. “I don’t want to take them from people who need them.” He scratched his neck and flashed a quick glance at Hunk. He wasn’t sure what he should be doing.

Hunk shoved him and Keith fell onto his elbow, scratching it. “The fuck, Hunk?” he asked, rubbing the angry red mark.

“Nobody needs cookies, dude,” Hunk said, and there was a small _something_ in his eye, and Keith worried now, worried he’d start to cry. “You just eat them.”

“Well,” Keith mumbled. “Sorry then. I’ll...eat your damn cookies. If you really fucking want me to.”

Hunk gave him another look. Then he started chuckling, a little at first, and then it turned into a full bellied laugh. Keith held up his hands, wildly trying to shut him up from waking up the whole neighborhood.

“I knew it,” Hunk said when he’d finally settled down. He laid on his back and put his hands on his stomach, watching the night sky. “You are a nice guy.”

Keith frowned. “I’m not nice.”

“Sure you are,” Hunk said. “You just don’t want anyone to know it. You work a lot on that face, don’t you?”

Keith tried not to get mad, he really did. But Hunk was pushing his goddamn _buttons_ and Keith had never been known for his level-headedness.

“Fuck you,” he said. “Just because—” he stumbled, “—someone’s _dead,_ doesn’t mean you get to just say what you want right now.” He glared down at Hunk, but the dude didn’t even look phased.

“Keith?” he asked.

Keith glowered. “What?”

“Don’t you think it’s funny that ‘whole,’” he said, taking his hands and making a circle, “and ‘hole,’” he pounded his chest and his voice turned hollow. “Sound the same? Cosmic joke you think?”

Keith’s mouth flattened. He laid down next to Hunk, mimicking his position. “A fucking shitty one if you ask me.”

When Keith went back to Shiro’s room that night, sometime in the early hours of the morning, he noticed Shiro smelled like cigarettes.

The very next night, Keith was surprised to see Hunk on the roof again. Mildly. But Hunk had been expecting him apparently, because next to him was an entire plate of cookies.

“Eat up, buttercup,” Hunk said, chewing. Keith eyed them suspiciously, then took one. He broke it in half and then shoved the large piece in his mouth, chewing roughly. Hunk watched him while he ate, which annoyed him slightly.

“Happy?” he asked as he swallowed the last bite. Hunk tapped the plate, scooting it a touch closer to Keith. Keith took another cookie. They were pretty fucking good.

The fifth night Hunk stayed with them, and the third night since they’d started their nightly roof meetings, Hunk had brought them blankets. Lying on the roof on the blankets, with cookies beside him and staring out at space was the most comfortable Keith had felt in nearly a week.

“My parents died,” Keith said.

“I know,” Hunk responded. “Lance told me.” The plate of cookies went untouched for a while.

“I don’t know what to tell you to get you through this,” Keith said. “I barely got through it and I was a fucking kid.”

“I know,” Hunk said.

“So I just—I don’t know what you want from me,” Keith felt a little out of breath. He’d been thinking it the whole time, ever since Hunk arrived on their doorstep in tears with the news that Gram-gram had passed in her sleep on that old fucking couch. Where would the couch go? Keith suddenly wondered.

He was supposed to be the one comforting Hunk. He was the only one who knew what he was going through. But he couldn’t think of a goddamn word or phrase or inspirational lyric to help the guy out.

There was nothing to do but sit, cry and _live_ , keep breathing without those you’d lost. Nothing Keith said or did could warp the truth.

“I just wonder how long it’s going to feel like this, you know?” Hunk said, turning to Keith. That thing in his eyes was back, the thing that looked familiar. “How long did it last for you?”

Keith wiped his nose with the back of his hand, then ran his hand through his hair, looking up. “A long fucking time.”

“And the hole?”

Keith looked back at Hunk. They stared at each other, and both of them knew the answer to that question was, “Not soon enough.”

Hunk sighed. Keith clenched his fists.

The fourth night they went up to the roof, they laughed.

“He fucking _shit_ in the bushes? What the fuck—that’s so fucking _Lance_ ,” Keith couldn’t stop shaking with hysterical laughter.

“I know, I _know_ dude, like that’s the moment I knew, ‘This guy is for real. And this dude is my best friend.’”

Keith’s laughter died down. He avoided Hunk’s gaze, but Hunk, the world’s most sentient empath, was onto him. “You’re my best friend, too,” he said. And Keith rolled his eyes.

“Sure, dude,” he said. “Say what you want to make yourself feel better.”

“It does make me feel better,” Hunk countered. “Because it’s true.”

As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t shake the smile off his face after Hunk said that.

When morning came, Shiro smelled like cigarettes again. “Have you been out every night you peeping tom?” he asked Shiro while elbow deep in the dishes. Shiro rolled his eyes and frowned.

“Just watching out for you guys,” he said vaguely and sat down at the table. Pidge was staring down into her Cheerios. Bags hung under her eyes and it was clear she had a shit night of sleep. “You okay, Pidge?” Shiro reached out his hand and covered her forehead with it, examining her temperature, a total Mom gesture. “You don’t look so good.”

Pidge sniffed and took a bite of her cereal. “I’m fine.” Liar.

Shiro and Keith exchanged glances, and Keith turned back to the dishes, knowing she’d only talk if Shiro were the one doing the talking. “Pidge, I’m not doing great either.” Keith heard Pidge drop her spoon and then Shiro continued, “So how about you tell me what’s going on with you, and then I’ll tell you what’s going on with me. Fair’s fair.”

“Shiro,” Pidge said. She took a moment, and Keith felt the silence load up with tension behind him. “I think I’m going to end up alone,” she said, barely loud enough for Keith to hear.

“Why’s that?” Keith heard Shiro say. He heard sniffling and wanted to punch a wall. If one more person fucking cried in this house, he would burn it to the ground. Bad fucking juju.

“Like,” she began, voice impaired with phlegm. “I’m a girl, okay? God—this is such a shitty time for this. It’s stupid compared to what Hunk’s going through—”

“Relax, Pidge. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“I just, I got the feeling,” she tried to explain, “like after all of this—after Gram-gram, it got me thinking. About—legacy. Family. And Shiro, I. I got this feeling suddenly, like a real feeling in my gut, that I’d never get married. That I’d never have—children, or grandchildren, no one to take care of me when I get old. And it just—I have no idea what to do about that.

“Like ever since I was a little kid, I’d think about what my partner would be like, about what I’d name my kids. And last night, I just—it wasn’t even a feeling Shiro, I just _knew_ I’d never get married. And that’s. What’s wrong with me? What’ll happen if that’s true? And I know it will be, I just know it. Shiro—” she burst into tears, and Keith could hear her cries muffled through her long sleeves, probably covering her face. “I don’t want to end up alone!”

Keith threw the sponge down into the sink. He didn’t even take off the stupid yellow gloves as he turned around and crashed into Pidge, holding her in his wet, soapy arms and telling her with them that she’d never be alone because, goddammit—

When Hunk walked in the room with Lance behind him, he didn’t say a word either as he came up and picked Pidge up from her seat, Keith still attached, and rocked them back and forth in his arms. Somehow Shiro and Lance ended up in the dogpile of a hug too, and Pidge let out one short shriek of laughter through the tears.

They slowly unclasped each other.

“I don’t know what that was about,” said Hunk, smiling with that look in his eye, again, the one Keith couldn’t quite place. It had a bit of a mischievous quality to it, Keith realized. Whatever, he thought. He’d figure it out someday. “But I feel a lot better now.” He clapped Pidge on the shoulder. “The hugs help, huh?”

An uncontrolled half-giggle, half-cry worked its way passed her throat, and she wiped her nose on her sleeve. “Yeah, it does.”

“I got something,” Hunk said. He fished around in his bags and pulled out a puzzle of some spaceship, something from a movie Keith sort of recognized. Pidge’s eyes grew and Hunk smiled back at her. “Wanna work on it together?” She nodded fervently. They left to go to her room, hand in hand, but not after Pidge gave Keith a look he wouldn’t forget for awhile.

Whatever. They were practically related, so whatever he’d done had been normal. For them, anyway.

Keith waved Shiro off to bed, and then it was just him and Lance, alone in the living room. The dude looked tired, and Keith wondered how he hadn’t noticed the sag to his shoulders until now, the way his hair probably hadn’t been brushed in a few days.

“Hey,” Lance said.

“Hey,” Keith responded. A tick of silence stood between them and Keith grew impatient. “Do you wanna just—”

“—hang?” Lance finished, small smile on his lips. He waved Keith over, and they headed outside, but not before Keith took out two beers from the fridge. Keith sat in one of the old beach lounging chairs Shiro had found free on a residential curbside one day. Lance walked over to him, tapping his foot with his shoe, silently asking him to make room.

Lance dropped into the space between Keith’s legs, resting his back against Keith’s chest. He could feel Lance’s slow breathing, and it sounded nothing like Shiro’s. It was lighter, quicker, coming in and ebbing out like a tide. Lance leaned his head back on Keith’s shoulder and pointed up to the sky.

“That’s Arcturus,” he said, pointing to a star. “Brightest star in the sky.”

“Unlike you,” Keith retorted, taking a sip from his beer.

Lance laughed. “Fuck you,” he sighed. “Bet you can’t even name a constellation.”

Keith pointed. “The Big Dipper.”

Lance chuckled again, and Keith felt himself smiling into his neck. “That’s not a constellation.”

“Is so,” Keith protested.

“Is _not,_ ” Lance insisted. “It’s an asterism. It’s part of Ursa Major, now that’s a fucking constellation.”

“An ass-what?” Lance laughed. “Whatever nerd. Bet you can’t name any more.”

The competition began. Lance pointed out all of the constellations in the sky, and Keith pointed to other collections giving them made up names like, “Astronaut with Big Dick,” “Chicken with One Wing,”—“Oh is that Shiro?” “Oh fuck you I am so telling him you said that,” “No wait don’t tell him, don’t tell him!”—and Keith’s personal favorite, “Dumbass Shits in Bushes.”

They stayed out there for awhile, and the next morning, Shiro didn’t smell like cigarettes, Pidge and Hunk completed their puzzle, and life felt just a little bit more normal.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song at the end:
> 
> Specifically [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L5jI9I03q8E) because that jazzy crescendo makes me cream myself every time :O
> 
> Two days and next chapter. We meet Hunk's parents yo! Word.


	12. A Timely Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The One Where Lance Meets Hunk's Parents

“Like how wasted?” asked Lance, grin spreading across his face as he tucked the phone between his ear and his shoulder while he tied his shoes.

“So wasted,” said Lana, voice so clear he could hear the hangover settling in by the minute. “I can’t believe I’m this old and still living this life.”

“Oh poor thing,” Lance whined mockingly. “‘I get to go to fucking awesome adult graduate parties and nearly get my clit sucked off,’ poor you.”

“Fucking  _ language _ Lance,” she chided, groaning when her headache increased.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Lance. “Anyway, how far did you get?”

She scoffed. “I told you I was  _ wasted _ . I blurted out I was a virgin, with my panties off and hanging out the window, his mouth on my neck and fingers through my hair, and he like,  _ bolted _ .”

“Fucking, what?"

“He bolted Lance. Like fucking—I don’t even have a comparison. He just like, jumped off me like I’d said I had ebola, said something about commitment issues, and fucking ran. Out of his own fucking car.”

Lance laughed from his gut and Lana cursed him from the other end of the line. “Sorry dude,” he said when he’d finished laughing at her embarrassment. 

“Yeah,” she said monotonously. “That’s life I guess. Fucking refuses to fuck you when you want it to, and fucks you all the time when you just want some goddamn  _ sleep _ .”

Lance hummed and rolled his pants into cuffs, getting ready to meet Hunk for some ice cream. They found a place that served coconut gelato and it was their new favorite thing next to GT5.

“You know,” Lana mused on the other end of the line. “I should’ve guessed you were gay awhile ago. I’m pretty sure no other guy talks with his sister about her sex life.”

“Or lack thereof,” Lance grinned.

“Goddamn you.”

“All right sister-mine, I gotta go, some coconut gelato is calling my name and if you knew how hot it was here you’d understand. Oh and by the way,” he added. “Thanks for sending me that cash. You are a godsend mami.” He made kissy sounds through the phone.

“What? Lance I haven’t sent you money. I have like $3 in the bank and that’s going toward a male prostitute at this point.”

Lance hummed a minute, then shrugged. “Oh, well thanks for  _ nothing _ then,” he said. 

“Har-har,” she said. “If you figure out who did though, let me know. I’m intrigued and also want a sugar daddy who donates anonymous cash.”

Lance giggled, then finished up his goodbyes. Lana was his other half in some ways, just like him but also not, because she had drive and was super good at science and Lance couldn’t tell you literally one chemical on the periodic table of… wait a minute. Were those chemicals, or elements? Were those the same thing?

He shrugged to himself and hopped out the door, waving to Hunk as he pulled up to the house from work.

Hunk barely pulled the car to a stop before he burst out of the door and rushed over to Lance, grabbing him by the arms.

“My parents are coming back!” he shouted, and Lance heard him yell it at least three times before realizing, no, he’d just said it so fucking loud it was reverberating throughout his whole fucking brain.

“Fucking what?” Lance asked, shaking Hunk off him.

“My parents are coming back!” he shouted, pulling at his own hair. “They need to settle things here like the house and stuff and basically my life is now over because they’re also trying to decide what to do with me now that I don’t have anyone watching over me at the house and I literally have one year of school left and oh sweet Esther I do  _ not _ want to have to go to the Philippines and have to go to school with some fancy, stuck up internationals at their fancy private school—”

“Hey,” Lance whined on his own behalf.

“Right dude sorry but seriously can we focus here because  _ my life is over and it had yet to begin!” _ he shouted, fists shaking at the sky. “Oh curse everything, why does it have to end like this?” He looked at Lance with the biggest eyes he’d ever seen, pout in full form, real and true, as Hunk thought about the next stage of his life. “But at least I finally got to hang out with the cool-kid neighbors next door.”

“Aw Hunk,” Lance said, reaching for him and giving him a hug. Hunk fell into it and squeezed Lance for all he was worth, which was a lot, apparently.

Lance backed away and slapped his hands on both sides of Hunk’s cheeks, squishing them. “I’m not letting them take you without a fight. I’ll tell them our side of things, how awesome you are, and how awesome you are in particular when you stay here, on this side of the water.” He pat Hunk on the shoulder as hope began to enter his eyes, and smiled at him confidently. “By the end of hearing what I have to say? There’s not a chance in space they’ll take you away.”

And Lance was feeling pretty good about it.

Three nights later however, when he was sitting down to dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Reyes, when they were staring at him with well-meaning smiles and asking him to partake in the Lord’s prayer and Lance totally fell back on the good-old-fashioned Catholic mealtime prayer and  _ then _ they looked at him like he’d never seen salvation?

He might not’ve been feeling so great about it.

Hunk was giving him  _ looks _ and  _ gestures _ , indicating he needed to buck up and fucking  _ talk _ already because the clock was ticking and it was marching toward island life, white bread and cheese from a can.

“So,” Lance started, smiling at Hunk’s parents like he’d known them for years. “Life in the Philippines must be seriously  _ boring _ amiright? Like, I bet kids get into  _ all _ sorts of trouble in such poverty-ridden conditions.” He sighed, speared a grape tomato and crushed it between his teeth. “I can’t even imagine all the terrible stories you have to tell,” he shook his head in lament, “they must be too sad for young ears like ours to hear and not be totally traumatized for the rest of our lives.”

“Actually,” said Mrs. Reyes, smiling and grabbing her husband’s hand. “It’s a wonderful and eye-opening experience to see how people with nothing can be so kind, generous and full of faith.”

Mr. Reyes nodded, taking a bite of his salad. “Yes, the Lord has really shown us some miracles over there. I’m sure young people like yourself would find life inspiring if you heard some of the stories we had to share.”

And they shared them. Oh boy, did they share them.

“And even with only two fingers left,” Mrs. Reyes said, tears in her eyes. “She wrapped the flower stem around the stub of where her wedding ring used to be. She blessed the child soldier who’d cut off her fingers to grab her gold band, to pay the amount the guerilla army said he’d owed them. She told him, ‘I forgive you. Now go and pay your debt, and then give your spirit to the Lord, because he’s the one who will truly pay your debts, at no cost but your love.’”

“Amen,” said Mr. Reyes.

Lance was trying not to cry, but he was totally losing that fucking battle. “That’s, great,” Lance said, wiping his eyes roughly and sniffing. He straightened his posture and cleared his throat, because he wasn’t crying, he fucking wasn’t crying.

Hunk was though. “Oh wow, mom,” he said, blowing into his napkin. “That was amazing. I can’t believe the strength of that woman to trust in God even when she’d been through so much pain. I can’t even imagine.”

Mrs. Reyes pat Hunk’s head and kissed his forehead. “The more we’re over there, the more great acts of God we’re seeing. I really hope you get to see these things too, with us.”

Hunk looked down at his plate, nodding a little sadly. Hunk would be great for that kind of work, Lance knew it too, but he wasn’t ready to let go of his best friend yet.

Lance was about to open his mouth, say something, anything, to show them how life  _ here  _ would be better for Hunk, for all of them, but he was interrupted by Hunk’s dad.

“Can you get the dessert from the fridge?” he asked Hunk, who nodded and stood up from the table. Hunk walked slowly, still sighing and sniffling. When he was gone from the room, Mr. Reyes turned to Lance. “Lance, would you be free sometime tomorrow, maybe for a coffee, or ice cream?”

Um, what? “Um, what?” Lance asked.

“We want to talk to you about something, but we’d prefer not to do it here, tonight, since we still have a little bit more praying to do on it,” he explained. “But it is something we’ll be discussing with Hunk as well, just separately.”

Lance’s brain shorted out. Talk? Alone? With parents? That weren’t his? Or Shiro?

That, he thought as he opened his mouth to politely—and regretfully—accept, was going to be weird.

And it was. It was totally weird,  _ totally _ awkward the more he thought about it. He got into the backseat of their car as they drove him to Starbucks the next day, chit-chatting about this and that, about What Lance Liked, and What Was Keith Like, and What Do You Think About Local Politics?

He felt so weird when they bought him his iced coffee, and Hunk’s mom winked at him. “Careful Lance, there aren’t any bushes around here.”

Fucking  _ Hunk _ . Telling his  _ goddamn parents. _ Fuck—they were going to have words about this.

When they finally sat down, Lance’s hair was falling out. What the hell did they want to talk to him about? Was he using too much electricity in the house? Did they see his giant load of laundry and think he was irresponsible?

Or was it something infinitely worse? Did they think he was corrupting Hunk by being gay? They were religious and spiritual as all— _ heck, _ but Lance wasn’t sure just how judgmental over something like this they’d be. His own parents were traditionalists more than religious, which is why they’d spurned him. But religion, Lance knew, could certainly act as a Big Bang for dangerous and exclusive intolerance.

Mrs. Reyes smiled at him, and he actually  _ prayed _ , hoping the smile was genuine.

“Lance,” she said. “Don’t be afraid. Jesus is watching out for you.”

Lance couldn’t fucking breathe. Here it comes, he thought.

“We are so grateful how you’ve been there for Hunk when we weren’t able,” she reached out and touched his knee, giving it a firm grip and then leaving it there. “You are such a special person to do that for him, and after only knowing him for a month. We really think God must have sent you for us.”

“Not that we like the way it happened,” Mr. Reyes assured, tapping his coffee cup—hot, black coffee in the middle of summer, what a badass, Lance thought light-headedly—on the table. “But God works in mysterious ways.”

“Lance, we’ve been praying about it, and we really want Hunk to finish his last year of high school here,” she said. Lance couldn’t have been more surprised to hear this if a chicken had walked into the room and announced it for them. “He’s doing so well here, and we think that taking him over with us would just,” she bit her lip and Lance could see the struggle within her. They really loved Hunk, he realized. His chest tightened, but he took a breath and then a sip of the coffee.

They loved Hunk, and that was nothing to envy, he told himself firmly. It was something to be really fucking happy about. Because it was that kind of love that made Hunk, well,  _ Hunk. _

“The trouble is, Lance,” said Mr. Reyes when it was clear his wife needed a moment. “We can’t leave him here alone. He’s only seventeen, and he needs someone watching over him. Hunk also just needs,  _ people _ , around him, and we could never be okay just leaving him on his own.”

“So, you’re coming back?” Lance asked. “Is …  that why you want to talk to me? So I’ll move back in with Keith?”

The two looked at each other and Lance wanted to laugh. They were worried about hurting his feelings. They were worried about hurting his feelings! “No it’s fine!” Lance said, smiling and feeling a load off his chest. “I totally don’t mind! Keith won’t mind at all, I’m a pretty fabulous roommate, I bet they miss me cleaning up all their messes, even though it’s only been a week.”

Mrs. Reyes smiled at him, and Lance  _ really _ liked her smile. “I’m sure they do miss you Lance, which is actually, that’s actually what we wanted to talk to you about.”

Wait, what?

“The work we’re doing in the Philippines,” explained Mr. Reyes. “Is truly God’s work. We can’t leave now, it wouldn’t be right.”

Lance furrowed his eyebrows, confused. “But Hunk—”

“We want him to stay here. But we want  _ you _ to stay with him,” said Mrs. Reyes. “As in, permanently, until you both graduate, and Hunk decides his future.”

Realization dropped on Lance like a stork dropping a stone baby.  _ Oh _ , he thought.

“We know you didn’t plan for that, and that,” Mrs. Reyes struggled again. “Oh I’m so sorry Lance, for bringing this up—but maybe when your parents realize what a mistake—” she covered her mouth, wiping it with a shaky hand, and continued. “We just want to make sure that you’ll be willing to stay with Hunk. For the year. It’s so much to ask, but we really feel like this is what God is calling us to do, and we think this is the plan God has for both you and Hunk.”

“We really want you to know, this is entirely your decision,” Mr. Reyes said, holding his wife’s hand. “We’re going to talk to Hunk about our decision only once you’ve made yours. It’s easy for me to say, but don’t feel like you have to say—”

“Yes,” interrupted Lance. They both exchanged worried glances.

“Lance—”

“No, I mean—yes.  _ Yes _ . I will absolutely stay with Hunk,” Lance said, scooting up in his seat. “I’ll give you my word, my bond, I just—totally, totally yes.” Lance’s mouth was dry and his thoughts were running a mile a minute, he couldn’t even keep up.

“Lance,” restated Mr. Reyes. “If you think about it, take some time, that is absolutely not a problem. We don’t want you feeling guilty if Hunk has to come with us, because that, too, could be the Lord’s plan—”

“No,” said Lance, firmly. “ _ This _ , is God’s plan.” Lance struggled for a moment, and the bitter taste of coffee in his mouth subsided as the words fell from his tongue. “I’m not super religious, I’m sure Hunk’s told you that, among other things,” Mrs. Reyes smiled slightly, then nodded her head. Mr. Reyes nodded his head too. “I’ve known Hunk for a short time, but he’s become my best friend. He was there for me, when I thought Keith was kicking me out of his place too. He was just this big guy, hiding in the bushes, asking me if I was all right.” Lance grabbed Mrs. Reyes’ hand and held on. 

“No one had ever done that to me before,” he said. “Not since I was like, in the third grade, and kids just,  _ did _ that for each other. Hunk is the best guy I know, and if I can be there for him, and be there for you guys, when, when—” he was losing his train of thought again, he felt what he wanted to say, but he couldn’t put it into words.

They accepted him. They were sitting in front of him, a near stranger, and telling him his own parents had made a  _ mistake _ not letting him back home. They were trusting him with Hunk, the only kid they had and loved, and Lance was  _ not _ going to fucking disappoint them.

He might have disappointed his own parents, but Shiro was right. No matter if he was gay, straight or purple, he was a good-hearted dude who would do anything to make sure his family was safe and protected. And Hunk was part of that family now.

“Lance,” said Mr. Reyes. Mrs. Reyes moved from her seat and kneeled by Lance, enveloping him in her arms. He let her hold him, and he leaned into the hug. It was warm, and she smelled like Hunk’s lightly-sugared sweet breads. Or maybe, Hunk smelled like her? “Thank you so much,” he finished.

Mrs. Reyes let the hug do the talking for her. And if her eyes were a little red and she was smiling a little too wide, Lance just returned the favor by looking a little emotionally worn out as well.

They returned home, and Lance was a little burned out from it all. He told the Reyes’ he’d be staying over the next few nights at Keith’s, that way they could have the night with Hunk to let him know The Plan, and get some needed family time. Lance was in a good place. He knew what he was doing, and it was the right decision to make. For once, he thought as he opened the screen door, yelling out for Shiro and Keith and Pidge, he was doing the right thing. And he was happy to do it, goddamnit.

Pidge was at science class or whatever, and wasn’t there for when Lance broke the news. He fidgeted in his seat, looking from Shiro to Keith, who looked at each other, and then looked at Lance.

“So,” Shiro said, when Keith stayed quiet. “You’ll be living with Hunk. Like. For the next year.”

“Uh,” Lance said, sucking the straw and slurping the remains of his iced coffee. “Yeah. Basically. I’ll move into their spare room, until Hunk and I graduate, and then we’re all going to like, make another decision. I guess.” he frowned. “We’re still working out the details on that last part. They’re praying about it.”

“Praying?” Keith sneered, and Lance got defensive on their behalf.

“Hey. That fucking stuff works for them, cool your jets, Keith.” Keith folded his arms and looked away. What was his fucking problem?

“This is great Lance,” Shiro said, smiling, if looking a little sad. “I’m glad you’re okay with this. But,” he added, swallowing. “If things don’t work out, you know you can stay here, right?”

Lance tried not to glow. “Thanks Shiro, but I’m sure it’ll be fine. Don’t sweat it man.”

Shiro smiled. “Yeah, I think it’ll be okay, too.”

Lance smiled, then looked at Keith. Who still wasn’t saying fucking anything. “I’ll be right next door dude, what the fuck? You always complained about that stupid bed anyway, saying how uncomfortable it is. You can get your bed back from Pidge, isn’t that what you wanted?”

Keith gave Lance a withering glare. Fuck, Lance didn’t even know he still had that look in him. It was he look he’d given to the social worker when he was told he had to leave for that year to go to Central Valley, to live in the desert.

He never thought Keith would make that face at  _ him _ .

Without another word, Keith pushed back his chair. It screech against the floor, making Lance and Shiro wince. He walked away, passed the living room, into the hallway, and into his room. He slammed the door, and left Lance sitting there, confused as hell.

What the fuck?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KtBbyglq37E) is a little on the nose but could I help myself. Clearly not.
> 
> Also: so I really want to finish this before Season Three starts (BLOW ME I’M DEAD ALREADY) which means that once I post chapter 14 (on the 26th), I’m going into _hyperspeed because I’ll be posting a chapter a day to finish this bitch_. So get ready for that. So far things are looking good, I only have another chapter and an epilogue to write. Thank you for the encouraging reviews, they really DO help with motivation y'all.
> 
> Also Part II: I've been thinking of writing a companion one-shot fic to this, explaining Shiro and Keith's background. Thoughts? It'd be kinda darker (like that's unusual for me :/) but it'd definitely explain the dynamics between the two a little better.
> 
> And finally: what is a “TV show” without a soundtrack? An awkward one. So at the end of each chapter is now a song that goes with the chapter’s “theme,” or whatever. :D
> 
> Next time: Matt. Angry Keith. Weed. >.> Things will start to pick up now!


	13. A Stagnant Rage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The One Where Matt Comes To Town

“Whoa okay wait no—” Matt said as he passed a newly rolled up joint to Keith. Keith took a hit, paused, then took another. How long had they been doing this? Keith looked out the window to see darkness, and his phone said it was two in the morning. Well, a while then.

It seemed like only minutes ago Matt had thrown open the door to their house, hollering for his sister. “Lucy, I’m home!” The familiar voice had shouted at the top of his lungs from the doorway.

“Matt!” Pidge ran to the door, still stuck in her wetsuit, which smelled like shit and seaweed to Keith, who had no interested in aquatic sports, “Unlike literally everyone else in the universe,” Lance had informed him. Whatever.

“Little brother!” cried Matt, wrapping her in his arms and swung her around like a Disney princess. She yanked his hair for that and Matt cried out in pain, dropping her back down to the floor. She released him eventually, when his cries became synonymous with pleas for forgiveness.

“Apology granted,” she said seriously, and burst into a smile. “How long are you fucking here for? Mom and dad didn’t say anything about you coming back.”

“Ah, just for the night really. I’m on leave for the weekend and decided Shiro needed someone to wipe his ass for him. Language, by the way,” he chided her and she stuck out her tongue at him. He rubbed her head roughly, mussing up her damp hair. “Where’s the bastard anyway? Hey, Keith,” Matt said, coming over and giving him a sliding palm and a fist bump. “Sup, man?”

Keith didn’t have a chance to even open his mouth before Shiro fucking ran out of the bathroom, towel barely covering his junk, and it was clear from the soaked state he was in he had probably jumped out in the middle of his shower when he’d heard Matt’s voice.

“ _Beefchewer,_ ” Shiro yelled.

“ _Cuntlicker,_ ” Matt threw back.

And people thought Keith and Lance were inappropriate.

The two clobbered each other with bear hugs and back slaps. It was gross; like watching parents make out, Keith thought vaguely. Shiro’s towel was getting dangerously low, so Matt helped it along and snatched it, much to Keith’s and Pidge’s disgruntled annoyance, and began snapping his ass with it. And Shiro couldn’t do a goddamn thing since he only had one arm to work with, since his other was charging in the outlet near the fridge.

That’s when Lance and Hunk walked in. Hunk screamed and dropped his bags of food, covering his eyes with his hands to prevent him from seeing Shiro’s Nothing To Be Shy About dick.

Lance on the other hand? Was openly drooling.

“Keep a lid on it, dipshit,” Keith said, shoving Lance. Lance was freshly showered, probably just off work. _Work_ , now that was a goddamn joke. Not only had Lance moved out, but he’d become self-fucking-reliant as well, getting a job as a backwaiter at some fancy ass restaurant in the next town over. He was turning into an entirely different person.

Where was _his_ Lance? The one who stood on the roof of their school together, back before Keith got kicked out, dropping spitballs on unsuspecting students, teachers, and the vice principal that one time, who’d looked up and seen Keith’s face because he hadn’t been fast enough and he got all the blame and detention for a week and Lance couldn’t stop laughing the whole day?

 _That_ Lance.

When Keith shook himself out of his inner thoughts, Shiro was showing Matt all of the new tricks he’d learned for his prosthetic. Matt watched Shiro spin it around, his wrist making a full 360 degree turn, hand increasing in sped as it continuously turned. Matt cracked up, grabbing the arm from Shiro and doing the trick himself, touching the muscle-controlled spot that worked the limb.

“Damn,” Matt whistled. “How has this not been stolen yet? Is no one man braveth enough to try?”

“Nope,” grinned Shiro, “but your sister stole it.”

“Yeah, I added a new compartment, see?” Pidge pointed out the small container in the arm, pressing a button to open it up. “I told him he should put like, a knife or a rape whistle in there, but does he do that? _No_.” Pidge groaned. “He puts _peanuts_ in it.”

“The fuck? Peanuts dude? You’re out of control.”

Shiro shrugged. “I get hungry sometimes. It’s not my fault your sister hates peanuts.”

“They’re just so dry,” she lamented, sticking out her tongue.

“Hello?” Allura’s voice filtered through the screen door. “Shiro, is that you?”

Shiro mouthed “FUCK” and ran into his room to put on some shorts. Matt opened the screen door, still holding Shiro’s arm, and whistled when he saw Allura. She was decked out in a loose tank top and high-waisted shorts, and her hair was folded into a long braid. It was at this point Keith decided to exit the whole _whatever_ that was going on.

“Ma’am,” Matt said, throwing a grin her way. “I am gay as hell, but may I say, kudos on the bod.”

She eyed him. “Are you perhaps related to Lance?”

“Who’s Lance?” Matt asked.

“I’m Lance!” Lance said, offended on his own behalf. “And I was gay before you!”

“Dude, Matt came out when he was like, five,” Pidge informed him.

“Um, sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to give Shiro back his books, he um,” she flicked her gaze to Hunk, and let it settle on him. “He left them there last week. Hunk,” she said, giving him a kind smile. “How are you?”

Hunk shrugged and scratched his neck. “Oh, doing okay. My parents are back for a little bit, just working out the house. They leave in two days, but, it’s good having them around.”

She nodded and shifted the books in her hand. “I understand. I—” she hesitated, but then continued forth with a strong voice. “I recently lost someone too, so if there’s anything you need, I’m sure I’d be happy to help. But,” she added. “I think your family here is providing you with what you need most at this time.”

“Well,” Hunk said, blushing slightly at the attention. “Thanks. And for what it’s worth, this family is getting bigger all the time. You should come over more often.”

It was Allura’s turn to blush. Keith brought out his switchblade, turning out the blade, then slapping it shut again. He figured he’d repeat the gesture until he cut a finger off.

“Yeah, princess,” Lance said, swaying over to her side and playing with her braid. “We need less testosterone around here. And you’re pretty. Like, _really_ pretty.”

Matt and Pidge nodded, mumbling their agreement, and Shiro finally came out of the fucking room. Unbelievable, Keith thought as he moved himself over to the couch and continuing his knife play. Shiro had combed his fucking hair.

“Hi, Allura,” Shiro said, hand in his pockets and good arm tilted toward her, somewhat hiding his right, shortened arm from her view. “How’s it?”

“I’m well, thank you, you um, forgot your—”

“Oh shit—I mean damn, I mean—fuck—um. Thanks.” He grabbed the books from her, but she still stood awkwardly near the front door. Keith was counting the seconds until she made her excuse and ran.

But having Matt around changed everything. Despite knowing half the people in the room, he was instantly everyone’s best friend. He coaxed Allura from the door and brought her inside, even making Keith shove over to give her space. He spoke animatedly, talking about his flight from Hell, babies and their mothers stowing used diapers below his seats, and the flight attendant he might have made out with in the bathroom.

“Mile High club? Already, Matt?”

“How did you know we smoked weed in there, too? And speaking of—” Matt pulled a bag of weed from his pocket, enough to last a pothead a week of bliss. “Anyone wanna take a trip?”

“Matt, what the fuck bro you can’t just—”

“Relax Mama Bear, Allura’s cool, she digs it.” He winked and elbowed Allura in the side. “Right girl?”

Allura blinked, then held up a finger. Her face turned serious and she inhaled deeply, ready to oppose. But then, against Keith’s best guesses, she promptly deflated and dropped her hand. “You know what, this week has been the pits. I’ll take a few hits.” She nodded to Matt. “Beam me up, Scotty.”

Matt grinned wolfishly, rolling a joint expertly between his fingers. “Just say ‘ah’ and enjoy the ride.”

So now here they were, enjoying the ride. Some of them anyway—namely Allura and Lance. The two got positively giddy and though Allura still slapped his hands any time he got grabby—even a gay Lance couldn’t help but touch a pretty girl nearby, Keith thought, annoyed—she still laughed at all his dumb jokes. She also kept giving Shiro the Eye, although the dope was too dopey and doped out to tell. Keith’s wildfire of anger switched directions from Lance to Shiro. It was pissing Keith off how oblivious Shiro was to her attention.

“Shiro never told you about it? Never?” Matt looked at Shiro, who drank a long chug of beer and nearly choked on it when Matt slapped it out of his hand. “This motherfucker—“ he said, pointing to Shiro, who was protesting adamantly, “—saved my goddamn _life_. Like a fucking hero and shit, like Clint Eastwood.”

“Then fucking tell us already!” Lance said, practically vibrating in his seat. “What happened?”

“Okay, set the scene: our squad heads out to patrol around Mortarville. Into the desert and podunk Middle Eastern village. Fucking empty as shit, nothing in the sky, nothing at all, not even a cloud.” He moved the beer bottles and cans around, using them as pawns to illustrate the story. “So Shiro and I, we’re a fighting team right? I was only PFC at the time—“

“What’s that?” Hunk asked.

“Private first class. It’s like. Here’s rocks, here’s PFCs, then there’s shit, then there’s privates. We’re down there, but not down-there-down-there.” He cleared his throat and gestured to the Almighty Shocktop bottle, wiggling to the top, “And Shiro here was a sergeant, who ran our squad. He and I had many differences, but we overcame them to become best fucking bros, ever.”

“I couldn’t fucking stand you back then,” Shiro grinned into his newly opened can of beer.

“Details. Okay. So our orders are to inspect the town, do a little recon and all that. Most missions have been pretty light and easy since we’ve been going through retrograde. It was a nice break from when we were housed at the COP and on patrol like, every second of the day.”

Hunk leaned over to Keith. “I have no idea what he’s saying,” Hunk whispered comically loud to him, “But it sounds pretty cool.” Keith rolled his eyes and drank his beer.

“So we’re out meeting and greeting the Haj—“ Shiro smacked Matt in the arm, hard, and Matt responded by rolling his eyes. “Fucking, _okay_ , ‘locals,’” he corrected himself, not that anyone had any idea what was going on. “When did you get politically correct?”

“Since I adopted like, four fucking kids dude,” Shiro responded.

“But you let them drink and smoke pot?” Matt grinned. Allura raised an eyebrow surreptitiously.

Shiro shrugged. “Life is fucking hard.”

Matt frowned, then nodded. “Fair. Anyway,” he said, getting back to his story. “This is the epic part.” Everyone leaned forward in their seats, and even Allura inched a little closer, listening intently to Matt as he spoke.

“So we’re walking around right—”

Keith watched everyone out of the corner of his eye. Pidge was smoked out, her body too tiny to handle the weed she was given. She knew the story, Keith and she heard it every time Matt came back for a visit. It was something Matt wanted everyone to know about, about how his best friend had sacrificed an arm, not for a cause or for something meaningful, but for a shit soldier he’d barely known at the time.

Matt was the best of how best friends should be, Keith thought. He crushed his empty beer can in his hands after he swallowed the last dregs. Matt and Shiro looked out for each other. Keith looked over at Lance, who was unbraiding and rebraiding Allura’s hair as they listened intently. Ever since he’d moved in with Hunk, Keith had become second tier to Lance, or so it seemed.

Keith opened another can.

“—has the whole fucking family hostage or something and we walked right into it. Goddamn,” continued Matt. “Shiro’s yelling at the guy to drop, but T-Man was waving a fucking IED near the woman’s head. It was fucking _chaos_ —”

Lance whispered something to Hunk, who nodded solemnly and continued staring at Matt as the tale unfolded. Shiro was the hero in everyone’s story. He was the hero in Matt’s story, in Pidge’s, Lance’s, Hunk’s, goddammit even Keith’s. And maybe that’s why he hated him so much right now. Because no one was fucking perfect, no one got that right. So why was Keith such a fucking wreck, and Shiro everyone’s Perfect Man?

“—right as I reach for the woman, guy fucking _grabs me_ ,” Hunk gasped and Allura covered her mouth with her hands, in terror and suspense. She looked over at Shiro, who flicked his gaze to her and blushed before returning to his beer. Keith saw Allura’s face, and that expression, the one she gave Shiro, all respectful and shit?

Keith looked at Lance, who took a pull off the joint and sighed. His eyes were misty and he was probably seeing Shiro in his mind’s eye. Lance still had a crush on Shiro, Keith knew that. Everyone fucking knew that.

“—yelling, and pulling, and then Shiro must’ve fucking grabbed me and thrown me out the door.”

The room was silent. Matt stared at Shiro at that point and thumped the table with his fist. Shiro nodded to him and lost himself back in his beer.

“Last thing I fucking saw was this dude’s face as he shoved me out of the house and slammed the door on himself and Ali Baba before the IED went off, and the whole fucking place went up in a goddamn hellfire hot enough to knock out Satan. It’s a goddamn miracle Shiro even survived, much less escaped with three limbs and some singed eyebrows.”

To Shiro and Matt, the room was empty. The two jostled each other a bit, and the slaps they gave each other were a bit too hard and long not to be meaningful. For a terrifying second, Keith wanted to jump off a roof.

“Well,” Pidge said, taking a long hit of the joint and shotgunning it into Hunk’s face, who was still too timid to try it out. “I’m out. You two fucking lovebirds keep it the fuck down tonight, I have class tomorrow.”

“My sister,” Matt said proudly, like he was introducing her. He smiled and leaned back in his seat and Keith watched the way the two exchanged faces with each other, giving the other a sillier and sillier face until they burst out laughing and couldn’t keep it up anymore.

After hearing the story, everyone seemed to agree the night couldn’t be topped. Bottles and cans were shifted around, half-cleaned up. Pidge tottered back to her room, and then Allura stood on shaky legs, and tossed her now loose hair out of her face.

“I ought to get home, too. Still lots to do at the house,” she said.

Shiro perked up, and walked her to the door, muttering a few things Keith couldn’t catch. Keith ignored him and took the blunt from Lance, who whined when he did. He took a hit and stared at the table.

When Shiro came back, Keith couldn’t help how the words just came out of his mouth. “You gonna fuck her or what?”

Shiro frowned. “Keith. Not cool dude.”

“What?” Keith shrugged nonchalantly, then leaned his forearm over the back of his chair. “I say hit it and quit it.”

“Oh sure,” Shiro spat back. “Such great advice coming—” He stopped himself and it was so abrupt it made the room spin. Shiro rubbed his face and shook out his head, seemingly too tired to argue with Keith.

“What?” Lance balked. “Oh snap, was Daddy about to criticize the one and only true child of god Keith?

Keith sneered and Shiro groaned. “I hate it when you call me that.”

“Um,” said Hunk. “Maybe I should go. Lance? Maybe we should go?”

“No way, I gotta be here for this. Keith versus Shiro: who’s taking bets?”

“Fuck off Lance,” Keith growled. He’d been wired and angry the whole night, and now the pot was only making his anger foggier. He had no clue what he was so pissed about, just that he was pissed, and wanted someone to be in the receiving end of his fist. Soon.

“I’m not gonna fuck her,” Shiro said. “I’m not going to do anything with her.”

“Wait, what?” Matt chimed in. “You were making faces at each other all night. I’d figured you’d _already_ tapped that.” Matt blinked in thought, bloodshot eyes unfocused. “ _I_ wanna tap that.”

“You fucking coward,” Keith slammed his fist on the table and stood up, leaning over and staring Shiro dead in the eye. “Fuck you. You like her, and she’s pretty, and she’s a nice fucking lady.” Rage bubbled and popped in his stomach, and he didn’t know where he was going with this. Just the look on Shiro’s _face_ made it fucking worth it though. Shiro looked a mixture of guilt, embarrassment and pissed off, and it was exactly what Keith needed right now. Some goddamn shame that wasn’t his own.

“You don’t get to chose that you don’t want to be with someone when you like them—you gotta make that effort, like, if you see someone’s there and you got a chance you just gotta—” Keith’s mouth felt too small for his tongue, but he plunged forward, because it’s what he fucking always did. Made a mess of what he was thinking. “—And they accept you? And they like you back—like fuck you. Reciprocated love is not something that happens to everyone,” Keith’s hands were shaking, but when he saw Matt out of the corner of his eye he was practically cheering him on. Hunk was biting his nails nervously and Lance was just _staring_ . “Goddamn, reciprocated _like_ isn’t something that happens to everyone.”

Having watched the way Allura and Shiro looked at each other, it made his heart ache. How could it be so easy for two people to meet and just _like_ each other?

Keith had been in love with Lance for like, too fucking long now. And part of him, he realized now, had thought that maybe when Lance owned up to who he was, he’d make Keith part of that picture. But seeing the way things were now, he knew that was a lie. Lance didn’t like him, not _that_ way. Keith wouldn’t have what he wanted. Maybe he’d never be satisfied with what he had. But goddamit, Shiro could be if he only _tried_.

Keith realized he was done. He stood at the table, panting, face red and eyes redder, and he was so full of energy he could’ve taken off like a rocket had someone pricked him with a needle.

“Okay, okay Keith, sit down,” Shiro said, raising his hand in surrender. “Sit fucking down, you’re gonna wake Pidge.”

Keith paused, stared at Shiro again, and sat down. He looked down at the ground, folding his arms over his chest, and waited for the whole goddamn night to be over.

“I’ll. I’ll ask her out. On a real date. You’re not wrong,” Shiro said, then threw an empty can of beer at his head. Keith whipped his head around but the look Shiro was giving him wasn’t an angry one, just a tired one. “But you didn’t have to be an ass about it. Cool?” Shiro asked.

Keith took a deep breath, then let out the anger. “Yeah.”

“Fuck, they didn’t even wrestle,” Lance lamented, passing over the joint to Matt across the table.

Matt shook his head and smiled, looking at Keith with something related to intrigue.

“Pity,” he said, blowing smoke out his nose. That one word filled Keith entirely with shame and he hoped no one could see it. He stood again, sticking his hands in his pockets and nodding to the group, indicating he was leaving.

Hunk mumbled a goodbye and Lance watched him carefully as he walked away. Keith slammed the door to his room shut and laid down in the bed. Head spinning, he groaned aloud and ran his fingernails down his face.

What a fucking jerk he was.

“Keith?” he heard, and nope—he was not in the mood for this.

“Go away Lance, or I will puke on you,” he threatened.

Lance ignored him and walked up to the bed. It was still the stupid daybed Gram-gram had loaned them. Keith hadn’t even thought to return it. It just. Didn’t feel like the right time yet.

“You’re a shitty dude,” Lance said. “But not that shitty.” He hung out by Keith’s bed, standing over him. Keith wanted to scream at him to get the fuck out, but he was done for the night. Let him have his say, then conk the fuck out, that was the only thing he had on his agenda now.

“Whatever it is you’re going through,” Lance said quietly. “Do it fast.” He held his ground over Keith for a minute, then walked back to the door. He opened it, and he heard Lance hesitate before stepping back out into the hallway. “Because I want my best friend back.”

He shut the door behind him, and it took every muscle in Keith’s body not to run after him.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lWfpV3AVR94) is your lucky song for today. <3 God I love Stevie.
> 
> And Fuck Keith, fucking CHILL already. All right y'all, in two days we get THE CHAPTER, one of my personal favorites. I wanted it to come out on July 28 (for special Lance reasons), but it comes early, and then HYPERSPEED.
> 
> See you then, and remember, toke safely! :D


	14. The Blackberry Ambush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The One Where Lance Realizes Something

“Lance, you wanna come with?” Shiro asked, poking his head out of his room. He was shirtless and—help Lance, he totally wasn’t crushing on Shiro anymore, seriously, he _totally_ wasn’t crushing on Shiro anymore _okay maybe just a smidge because yowza_ —on his way out to the grocery store. If there was one thing about this whole fucked up situation—you know, getting kicked out by his parents, whatever—it was that he finally got to pick out his own food.

And Lance, despite whatever innuendos Keith and Co. could say about him, loved picking out his own fruit. It just, _gawd_ , it made him all happy and bubbly inside.

Because fruit was literally the best thing in the world—shut up Keith—and he could eat it for days—shut _up_ Keith—and it would only leave him wanting more.

Okay, that was dirty. Whatever.

“Sure!” he called back. “You leaving now?”

“In just a few minutes, I just need to get … ready.” Lance did something dirty with his eyebrows and Shiro rolled his eyes, slamming the door and doing whatever. Lance grabbed his tip money, just a meager $50 for the night, it’d been a slow one, but he was sure it’d be plenty to get him whatever he needed.

Now that he had his own job, it was pretty fucking liberating. He no longer felt guilty for eating the takeout they ordered because it was always on _him_ . And it kind of made him a little proud. Like he flirted _hard_ for those tips, and it was totally worth it when he watched Keith drink guava juice, he paid for, for the first time.

And hate it, because he was insane.

By the time Lance was ready to go, Shiro was already out by the car, talking to Keith, who was practically shouting at him through his helmet as he sat on his bike, engine idling.

“I said they’ll meet us there!” Keith shouted to Shiro.

“Who’s meeting us?” Lance asked, and Keith whipped his head in Lance’s direction. He struggled a bit with his helmet and when he managed to pull the sucker off, Lance understood why he’d left it on. Yeezus, and not the good one.

“What, get in a fight with a badger recently?” Lance asked, and Keith fucking pouted. It was a look that was reminiscent of the old Keith. The new Keith though, the one who was angry with him, for no reason?

“Fuck you, I’ll see you guys later,” he said, then revved his Kawasaki and tore out the driveway. Lance frowned, hands on his hips. He just didn’t know what to do about the new Keith.

“What the fuck was that?” he asked Shiro. Shiro just smiled and scratched his head.

“Oh nothing, you know how he gets when it’s hot outside.” Lance nodded, knowing exactly how Keith got when it was hot outside. He had a scar on his forearm and a lifetime ban at Popeye’s to prove it. Still, he thought as he got into Shiro’s car, he wasn’t totally buying it.

He and Shiro were mostly quiet on the way to the store. Lance was more in the mood to people-watch on the street and make guesses about their lives; to watch the scenery and remember what it looked like in winter.

He tried not to think about the fact his birthday was tomorrow, and his parents had yet to give him any indication they were changing their mind about him.

By the time he’d gotten out of his own thoughts, he realized very quickly they weren’t anywhere near the store.

“Uh, Shiro,” Lance started. “I’m pretty sure we missed the exit for the store,” he finished helpfully.

Shiro tilted his head and a small smile flickered in his eyes. “Oh really? Wow, I must be out of it. Had a tough workout today, it must’ve messed with my head. Well no sweat, maybe we’ll just stop here and ask for directions.” He pulled the car over suddenly and parked in a school parking lot. His, in fact, Saint Mary’s.

Lance was a little too puzzled to figure out what the fuck Shiro was doing, but following him out of the car anyway. “Dude? It’s literally like, two roads back and—I mean why would you even—”

“SURPRISE!” Lance nearly fell backward as Pidge, Hunk and even Allura stepped out of the shadows behind a large bush, rushing Lance all at once. Pidge snuck up and snapped a cone hat on his head, Hunk blew on a tiny yellow kazoo, and Allura clapped and beamed, jumping up and down as Lance’s surprise face was, apparently, genuine enough.

“Oh, was it a surprise?” she asked, grabbing his arm excitedly, “Did we really fool you?”

“Um, yes,” he squeaked. “But what’s all this about?”

“It’s your birthday tomorrow you dumbass,” Keith said from behind. Lance whipped around, and probably looked as intimidating as a chihuahua with the birthday hat he was still sporting.

“Oh my god you had no idea,” Hunk said. “He had no idea. We totally fooled him, oh my god Keith you were so right like, he didn’t have even the _slightest_ clue—”

“Yeah even after he heard half of an entire conversation with me talking to Keith about this he didn’t get it,” Shiro said. “And that happened, like, twice.”

“Oh my god I totally didn’t think we could pull this off but you didn’t even for one _second_ think we’d do something for your birthday—” Hunk paused in his fervor. “Wait, dude, that’s actually kind of sad.”

“Nah,” said Keith, patting his hand on Lance’s shoulder harshly. “He’s just that stupid.”

Lance would’ve smacked him, but he had another question on his mind. “So yeah guys, you totally caught me, and while I totally agree I am amazing and this, whatever it is, is totally warranted," he said. “But um. What exactly. Are we doing? At my school?”

Keith gave him the Keith Look—utterly confused and wondering why Lance was acting like a fuckwad when it was really _Keith_ being the fuckwad, _that_ Look—and scoffed. “We’re going blackberry picking.” He pointed to the bushes around them. Lance paused then, and really took a look around.

Blackberries were everywhere, and while a lot had already been picked, there were some still ripe for the plucking and just waiting for Lance to take.

Keith had _remembered_.

Keith shrugged casually. “I know you go every year with your parents, and you talk non-fucking stop about it,” he hesitated and nodded to the bushes. “We couldn’t go far, not where you usually go, but I saw these on my way home from the tracks one night and I figured. Well. Berry picking is berry picking.” He punched Lance in the arm, _hard_. “So don’t fucking complain about it.”

Complain? Lance kind of wanted to thank him.

But that would’ve damaged his street cred, so he did something else. He grabbed Keith by the front of his jacket and pulled. Keith’s eyes widened in fight-response for a minute, ready to deck Lance in the jaw if he thought things were going down that way, but instead, Lance felt his body tense like a rope being pulled when Lance wrapped his arms around him and squeezed like a python.

After a minute, he relaxed, and had the fucking decency to wrap his arms around Lance, and turn it into an actual hug.

“Loser,” Keith mumbled into Lance’s jacket.

“Skank,” Lance responded, and if it sounded a little watery, nobody fucking mentioned it.

“All right, all right, mushy stuff aside—” Pidge tore in, handing everyone a jacket and a large piece of tupperware. Her short hair was pulled back with a headband and the look on her face suggested Business. “Listen carefully because I will not repeat myself: when the timer starts, we are in a War Zone,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “There are no restrictions on where you pick the berries, just that you pick as many as you can in one hour, and that each berry be predominantly black—no red ones asshats. That’s fucking cheating,” she said.

“Cheating?” Lance asked “What the fuck? We’re just picking berries?”

Her eyes told him he was the dumbest thing she ever saw and wasn’t worth the effort it would take to put him down. “You silly little thing,” she said lowly. “This is a competition! We will work in teams of two, and the team with the most berries gets this beautiful creation to mark them as the day’s heroes,” she held up a macaroni necklace that had pieces of popcorn thrown in as well. “And the losers will have to clean up the whole fucking house after the party we’re having back there after this. Any questions?”

Lance raised his hand.  “Um yeah,” said Lance. “It’s my birthday. I don’t have to clean up the party right? Because I’m the fucking birthday boy, and it’s my fucking party?”

“Don’t wanna clean it? Then don’t fucking lose,” she said.

Lance looked to Keith, who shrugged. Damn that girl did not hold anything back.

“If that is all, then we will now separate into teams. Allura and Shiro, you are team Alpha,” the two high-fived and Allura pulled back her hair, quickly turning her braid into a bun to keep it from getting caught in the bushes. “Lance and Keith, you are team Beta.”

Lance cracked his neck and booty-checked Keith, who was totally not expecting it and nearly tumbled into a bush. “We’re going to kick _all_ your asses,” Lance challenged.

“Not before I kick yours first!” Keith said before attempting to throw Lance into the same bush he’d almost tumbled in.

Hunk blew the kazoo and everyone looked at him. “What?” he said. “Let her finish, I want to know what team I’m on.”

“Hunk, there’s literally only one person—”

“Hunk is with me, and we make Epsilon team.”

“Don’t you mean Omega?” Keith asked.

“No. I like Epsilon. Don’t like it? Eat shit,” Pidge said, sticking out her tongue at Keith, who responded in kind. “All right, on your marks, get set, GO!” Hunk blew the kazoo and everybody was off. Lance threw on his jacket quickly and scrambled on the skirts of the bushes, plucking as many berries as he could and tossing them into his tupperware.

The rest of the gang began spreading out as time went on, most too hesitant to wade through the sharp thorns for the blackest berries at the tops of the bushes. Lance made a few attempts but ended up with more cuts than berries, and so he moved on around the bush, picking the ones that were within easier reach.

About thirty minutes in, he’d finally found Keith again, on the other side the road. Keith—fucking _Keith!_

“Keith!” Lance shouted. “What the fuck are you doing? Is this a game to you? Because this is _life_ motherfucker and I am not letting it get the better of me,” he stomped toward Keith, who was lying on the fucking ground, face hidden by the low leaves of a giant blackberry bush.

“Get down here,” Keith said.

Lance balked. “What?”

“I said, get _down_ here, you _dipshit_.”

Lance rolled his eyes, and threw up the hand that wasn’t holding his quarter-full tupperware. They weren’t going to fucking win at this rate, why fucking bother? Might as well take a damn nap if they were going to have to clean the whole house.

Lance hunkered down, and laid on the ground next to Keith. He put his hands on his stomach and looked at him.

“Care to tell me what the hell we’re doing down here?” he asked.

Keith turned his head to look at him, popped a berry in his mouth, and grinned. “Look up.”

Lance frowned, and did so. His face broke out into a smile. “The fuck?”

“I know,” Keith said, plucking a few berries and putting them in his tupperware. “The best ones are all hidden by the giant leaves,” he poked his elbow into Lance’s side, then reached up and grabbed a few more above them. “You can’t see them if you’re standing and staring down though.”

“Okay this is literally the first and last time I will say this,” Lance said, smiling and picking a handful of berries, then tossing them into his plastic container. “But you are a genius.”

Keith shrugged, and the grass made a soft rustling sound beneath him as he did so. “I know.”

The worked together, laughing under the shade of the bushes, legs warming up from the late afternoon sun. They pushed each other and Lance forgot all about his previous birthday blackberry outings, because _this_ is the one that mattered the most. The one lying on his back, throwing blackberries into Keith’s mouth, since they’d both managed to get their tupperwares hemorrhaging berries on all sides.

“How pissed is Pidge going to be if she loses?” Lance asked.

“Not as pissed as Shiro. He fucking _hates_ cleaning,” Keith said.

“Yeah no shit, I could tell,” he said, and Keith laughed. It made the bushes shake and Lance loved that fucking sound.

“So I thought about what you said,” Keith said, growing serious. He chewed on a berry thoughtfully and glanced at Lance. His eyelashes looked longer in the shade, and his eyes were darker than the berries.

Lance felt hyper aware suddenly, as if looking down on them from above, he realized how close they were. He could smell Keith’s breath, sweet from the berries, and he could see every strand of hair falling over his face. He ignored the instinct to shove the hair out of his eyes. Because Keith had nice eyes, he shouldn’t hide them with damp, grass-ridden hair.

“About what?” Lance asked, blinking at him. The leaves from the bush shook from a breeze blowing by, flickering bits of light all over them, all over Keith. His hair glowed from a particular piece of sunshine that caught the back of his head, and Lance thought maybe his grass-ridden hair didn’t look so bad after all.

“About what I can … about what I can do,” Keith answered. He changed his position, putting one hand behind his head so he could look at Lance easier. “There are different kinds of racing, ones that would take me places. Like rally racing, open wheel racing,” he grinned, _beamed_ , and Lance wanted to smile with him, but something was twisting in his gut.

“I’ve been thinking so long that I could only do stock car racing, and drag racing, since it’s all I’ve ever done, but I think if I keep going the way I am, I’ll burn out quick.”

“Why,” asked Lance, and he pinched himself where Keith couldn’t see. He sounded fucking, what the hell, breathless. Was Keith talking about leaving?

“I want adventure, you know? You know the feeling when we do something,” Keith laughed. “Something really fucking stupid. Sometimes we get caught, sometimes we don’t, but it’s that feeling of doing something you want to do, and others be damned.” Keith sighed, and closed his eyes. Lance traced his profile with his eyes, from chin to hairline. He’d never envied Keith for his good looks, it just wasn’t something he, as a dude, ever cared about.

But looking at Keith now, he felt this weird—god, it was like something was pulling his insides and twisting them. It was uncomfortable but Lance kind of wanted it to go on, kinda like—

Lance looked away. He looked up at the green of the leaves, and saw one more berry, ripe for the picking, but it was just out of his reach.

“I think if I get that feeling back, if I find that adventure again,” Keith said, voice as quiet as the ants tip-toeing on the branches. “I can be happy with who I am, with how I’m living my life.”

“So, is this,” Lance gestured to … things around him. Not to himself though, no way. “This isn’t enough anymore.”

Keith frowned, and Lance was worried he was looking right through him. He sighed and Lance held his breath.

“Not that. I just—” Keith bit his lip. Lance felt his heart jump and what had felt like mere inches separating them before felt like a hair’s breadth now. “Something’s fucking, _calling_ me, and I gotta figure out what it is.”

Lance had every impulse to reach out to Keith, to do something that terrified Lance for even thinking about it. He’d been on the edge of these thoughts for months now—when Keith had said he could stay with him, when he’d plunged face-first into Lance’s lap when Pidge was learning how to drive, when they were talking Shiro up to Allura—and right here, right now, of all fucking times, it surfaced and cried out to Lance to _fucking do something about it_.

But Lance couldn’t even nod as he stared at Keith, at his eyes, his nose, his lips. He couldn’t do anything as the words finally took form in his mind:

He was in love with Keith.

And Keith wanted to leave.

“Time!” Pidge called from the other side of the street. Keith got up easily, and offered his hand to Lance. Lance took it and held onto it for exactly the right amount of time, giving his friend no indication of longing, or hope, or despair.

Lance and Keith won the competition by a landslide. Shiro lost, much to everyone’s delight, but then everyone offered to pitch in to help Shiro clean anyway, and Lance complained the whole way back because—what the fuck if it’d been him no one would’ve helped that’s so lame Shiro what the fuck mojo do you have to pull the wool over everyone’s eyes like this you fucking wizard.

It was still the best fucking birthday he could remember. They got a yellow cake with vanilla frosting and served it with several different kinds of fruit salads. They all stayed up late, playing darts, drinking beer, doing impressions of each other until they were blue in the face—who knew Allura could pull off such a convincing Hunk?

Just after midnight, Keith tapped his shoulder. “Happy birthday, dipshit,” he smiled. Lance smiled in return and thumped his back in silent thanks.

But that night when everyone curled up wherever they’d last laid down, Lance reached out and grabbed onto the image of Keith beaming, a blackberry smudge on his cheek, and hair a halo of gold and green surrounded by filtered sunlight.

Lance was in love with his best friend, and there was nothing he could do about it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M FUCKING CRYING MY BUDDY MY AMAZING GAL PAL MADE ME A FANART IT'S BEAUTIFUL [here](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/post/173715420330/keith-lance-shouted-what-the-fuck-are-you). *soft gasp* it's so purdy *weeps tears of joy*
> 
> [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4xGInUUwk3U) song for Lance. <3
> 
> SEE YOU TOMORROW HYPERSPEED BEGINS NOW.


	15. The Blind Dilemma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The One Where Keith and Lance are Fucking Oblivious

Lance looked down at Keith, hands on his hips and angry line across his forehead. “Dude you’ve gotta stop beating the pavement for hours at a time, you are killing your legs. How’s that gonna look when you’re eighty years old and can’t walk?”

Keith rolled his eyes and adjusted his aching legs on the couch. He looked down and saw how swollen they were. He really need a cold shower, but he just couldn’t get up. He was so damn tired all of a sudden.

But there was nothing like the feeling of flying towards something and you didn’t know what it was. Running was...fucking bliss. It was like driving outside a course. Like driving his bike down roads he’d never been before. It was fucking freedom.

Lance groaned and grabbed Keith’s legs, pulling them up. Keith shouted in surprise and a little bit of pain, but Lance sat down quickly and pulled Keith’s legs down over him. He began to knead the muscles and Keith grabbed onto the couch, digging his fingers into the old orange fabric and wanting to die a slow death.

“Calm down you giant baby,” Lance said softly, almost sounding considerate as he pushed on the growing knobs in Keith’s calf muscles. “I used to do this for my mom when she got back from work, I know what I’m doing. Just lie back and think of England.”

“Fuck,” Keith drew out, throwing his head back against the couch as Lance pushed and rubbed out a particularly large knot. He tried to regulate his breathing but damn, Lance was right. He was in no way doing himself favors with all the running he was doing.

Keith watched Lance as he focused intently on his legs. It made Keith blush a little, having Lance touch his legs like that. Luckily it hurt enough that his dick was entirely unresponsive. Fuck, how embarrassing would that be? Getting a boner because Lance was touching his damn legs.

God, Keith needed to rethink some of his decisions.

“I draw the line at touching your feet, dude,” Lance said when the silence had grown heavy. Keith was feeling a little lightheaded; Lance wasn’t kidding when he’d said he’d done this before. Holy hell it felt fucking good now.

“I’m not complaining,” he slurred. Then added, “dipshit,” because he needed to keep some of the dignity he had still intact.

He could see Lance’s cheek lift in a one-sided grin, and Lance pinched a sensitive spot on his thigh.

“Fucking shit!” Keith shouted, jolting up and grabbing Lance. He leaned his head against his shoulder. “Christ almighty that fucking hurt.”

He could feel Lance’s shoulders shake in laughter. “That’s what you get for being ungrateful.”

Keith kept his head against Lance’s shoulder, slowly falling asleep where he hung on. Lance was cool and clean and he smelled like fresh laundry. Keith sighed, grabbed the other side of Lance’s waist and stayed there, pressing half of his cheek on the meat of where Lance’s neck met his shoulder, and turned into a puddle of goo as Lance slowly worked his fingers through Keith’s sore muscles.

Then Shiro walked in and Lance fucking freaked out.

Lance jumped and it threw Keith off the couch, where he sat up groggily and back in the same amount of pain he’d been in before. He groaned, and he had no fucking words for Lance being a fucking shit-faced ass-eating scum-sucker, but then apparently he did because he must’ve said that out loud, when Lance said to him, “pay me next time and take a damn bath, you fucking smell dude.”

He walked out, hardly giving Keith a backwards glance and Keith just laid down on the floor, not knowing what the fuck had happened.

Lance had been a little skittish since his birthday, and it left Keith wondering what he’d done wrong. Lance had gone all hot and cold on him. “You can do anything,” he’d told Keith, “I want my best friend back,” he’d told Keith, and now he was pulling this shit after Keith had thrown him a birthday party.

Shiro helped him up and gave him a puzzled look, which he chose to ignore. He’d just let it go, who fucking knew? Maybe he was feeling fucked up with the whole situation still. It’d only been two months, and despite what Keith thought of Lance’s family, they were all close. Now it was just his sister who was making an effort to talk with him. Keith guessed it’d fuck him up a little too, if that were happening to him.

“So,” Shiro asked, nodding toward Lance’s direction. “Everything cool? That was abrupt, even for Lance.”

Keith shrugged. “A lot of shit has happened Shiro, that’s the least of my concerns.” Shiro nodded. “What’s up? You look like you ate chicken feet again.”

“That was fucked up of you and you know it.” Keith grinned wolfishly and Shiro rolled his eyes and continued. “I’m taking your shit advice,” Shiro said. Keith gave him a questioning look and Shiro explained. “I’m asking out Allura. Officially. But—” he rubbed the back of his neck and Keith crossed his arms over his chest, ready for the coward to ask him to come along, because he was too chickenshit to just hang out with a girl on his own. “I want her to feel comfortable. I was thinking, I’d suggest the batting cages, and maybe you and Lance, or uh, maybe Pidge? Could come with.”

Keith rolled out his neck and groaned. Exactly a fucking Shiro move. Pretending to be considerate when he was really just covering his own ass. Fucking typical.

“Why are you like this?” Keith asked combatively. “Just take her out to dinner and be a fucking man. Buy her flowers and shit. Or take her to the batting cages on your own—”

“Batting cages?” Lance said, having come out from the bathroom, face a little red and he looked out of breath. Weird. “Fuck, I wanna go! I wanna go! Shiro—” he said, grabbing hold of Shiro’s arm and pulling like a child. “Take me along! I wanna go!”

Shiro pulled his arm back and slapped Lance upside the head. “Okay. You can come. Only because I’m so fucking _considerate_ ,” he said, leveling Keith with an eye, who rolled his eyes in response. “So Keith? Coming, too?”

There was a beat of silence, when Lance slapped his arm. “Come on dude, let’s go. We haven’t done shit together in a long time.”

“We literally hung out for your birthday,” Keith retorted, arms still folded over his chest defensively.

Lance shrugged. “Yeah, but that was in a group. When is it just going to be the dynamic duo again?” Lance grinned and Keith could feel his ears reddening. It was stupid how his stomach fluttered at the thought of hanging out with Lance again, just the two of them. “Shiro can bone Allura in their own batting cage and I can kick your ass and knock more balls than you.”

Keith scoffed. “Asshat, I’d cream your ass.”

“Then prove it,” Lance said, leaning forward toward Keith, crossing his own arms. “But I bet you’re all talk.”

That’s how they ended up at the batting cages with Allura, who tucked her hair back in a braid, grinning at Shiro and swinging her bat lazily.

“I hope you’re ready for this,” she said. “Because I might happen to be the lead batter for the Cape Town Thrashers softball team four years running.” She stretched out her legs, reaching down and touching her toes. If Shiro was looking a little intently at the action, no one said anything. Out loud. Lance was definitely making some obscene gestures with his hands, and Shiro promptly punched him in the arm.

“Show me what you got, girl,” Shiro smiled, and if Keith had cared to pay attention to their flirting, he’d have seen Allura blush and grin at his answer. “All right boys, the bats are for the balls, not for pounding each other’s heads, or for ruining equipment. This will not be a repeat of Scandia, we clear?”

Lance pouted. “Party pooper.”

Keith wandered over to a cage on the edge of the lot. He preferred minimal distractions for when he kicked Lance’s ass.

Lance followed him into the cage and did some overcompensating stretches. He took his time and trash-talked Keith the whole time, wondering aloud at how loudly Keith would cry when he lost to Lance.

“Don’t worry about it,” Lance said. “I’ll be a gracious winner, I promise. Scout’s honor,” he held up a salute and was all teeth when Keith scoffed.

“Oh yeah? Then how about we make this interesting.” Lance leaned in, interested, smug smirk on his face. The guy was so overconfident and it pissed Keith off. How many times had Lance lost to him and he _still_ went on like he was even on the same level as Keith. Nuh-uh. Not today.

“What do you have in mind, Soon To Be Loser?”

Keith grit his teeth and swung his bat in practice. “Loser...” he said, and thought. He hadn’t actually thought of anything, but as he heard a cracking noise from a bat hitting a ball, an idea came to mind. He grinned at Lance wickedly. “Loser has to rub the winner’s feet.”

Lance blanched and stood still as a rock.

“For twenty minutes. No breaks.” Keith tilted his head at Lance. “Or are you scared you’re gonna be on the losing side of that bet?”

Lance furrowed his eyes and put some quarters into the machine. “You’re on, skank,” he said. “And prepare to lose motherfucker, I got some Puerto Rican cousins and they taught me some shit.”

A ball went flying forward and Lance swung gallantly. It then continued its trajectory passed Lance, and Keith raised an eyebrow when Lance looked at him with not a small amount of panic.

“Sure, Lance,” he said, and when the ball came at him Keith swung and hit it on the tip of his bat. It flew toward the back and Keith shoulder-checked Lance as they switched positions. “Sure fucking thing.”

An hour later and Keith walked out victorious, beating Lance in a landslide. Lance stomped out of the cage, frown in full pout mode while Allura and Shiro finished up shortly after they did. Lance hardly took notice of anything, he was so fucking sullen, but Shiro and Allura had smiles on their faces and a light dusting of pink on their cheeks.

“We’re going to get some drinks,” Shiro said, “will you be able to take Lance back on your bike?”

Keith shrugged. “He can walk home if he has to,” he said, and Lance didn’t say anything, just banged his head on the chain-linked fence, hard enough to probably leave marks.

Shiro barely batted an eye, “Okay then,” he waved, taking Allura’s hand and leading her to the car. “See you later.”

“If you say so,” Keith said.

They both managed to fit on the bike and Keith brought them home. He had every intention of letting Lance out of the deal, but not before he milked his win a little more. “So you starting to regret fucking with me?” he asked after taking the helmet back from Lance.

Lance stood in the court, hands on his hips and glaring at Keith. “I could’ve fucking won if you hadn’t’ve cheated.”

“Fucking _what_?” Keith demanded. “I didn’t fucking cheat.”

“Sure you did,” Lance snorted. “You cheat at everything.”

Keith growled and shoved the helmet under the seat of his bike. “Whatever, you’re just a sore fucking loser as always.”

Lance chuckled under his breath. “At least I didn’t make an old lady nearly pee her pants when you threw the bat over the fence.” He laughed harder. “What the fuck dude? You could’ve fucking killed her.”

Keith tried not to pout, and ran his hand through his hair. “It slipped,” he said.

Lance spluttered another laugh. “Slipped? You’re wearing goddamn fingerless gloves for extra grip you nerd,” his grin split his face in two and Keith pushed down his giddiness at seeing Lance laugh. “You were just pissed because she nearly hit your bike with her 1959 Caddy.”

Keith pursed his lips together and shrugged. “Bitch had it coming.”

Lance howled. When he’d finished, he slapped Keith on the back and began heading into the house. Keith’s house.

“The fuck you going?” Keith asked, putting his keys in his pocket and following.

Lance looked at him like he was dumb, which Keith hated. Lance was the dumb one. It wasn’t even a subject for discussion after Lance had _microwaved_ his fucking _sandals_. “We had a bet?”

Keith flustered. “S-seriously? You’re gonna fucking—” he turned his shout into an exaggerated stage whisper. “Massage my fucking feet?” Now he looked at Lance like he was stupid, because he was. “For fucking real?”

“I’m a man of my goddamn word,” Lance grumbled, and Keith was sure if the porch light had been on he’d be looking at a blushing Lance. He waited for Keith to unlock the door and then strode inside, like he still fucking lived in the place. He sat on the couch and patted his knee. “Sit down you fucking shit.” He grinned nefariously when Keith hardly budged an inch. “Or are you scared?”

It felt like there was more to the sentence, but Keith simply stomped over to Lance and sat down on the couch beside him. He took off his shoes, leaving his socks on because _come on_. He leaned his back against the armrest, laying sideways on the couch. He dropped his feet into Lance’s lap, folded his arms over his chest, and leveled him with a look.

“You talk a lot of game for someone who fucking lost half an hour ago,” Keith said, pushing his feet farther into the meat of Lance’s legs, the meat there was anyway.

“I’m about to rock your fucking world,” Lance grinned. “ _Again_.”

Keith opened his mouth to protest, to tell him he was full of shit and the leg rub he’d gotten earlier hadn’t even been that great, when Lance used his long fingers to run them firmly along the inseam of his foot. Keith grabbed the back of the couch and dropped his head onto the armrest.

 _Fuck_ , he thought breathlessly. This was a _huge_ fucking mistake.

Keith fumbled, reaching over awkwardly to grab the remote of the TV on the coffee table. He turned on the TV, just to have a distraction, but not bothering to change the channel from what it was left on. Science channel, figures. Pidge was the only one who bothered watching cable television.

He completely ignored what was on the screen, though he kept his head in that direction. Lance was also somewhat facing away from him, tilted toward the hall so Keith could only see part of his face. What he could see was like staring at stone. Serious lines crossed his forehead as he worked on Keith’s feet in focus concentration.

Keith arched his back a little when Lance hit a particularly sore spot. It was like taking off your pants on a really hot day and aiming your junk right at the fan, letting it cool you off. Just total relief, and _shit,_ Lance could kick Keith’s ass at this, any day, and Keith could readily admit that.

He didn’t want to, but fuck, Lance had magic hands.

“So,” Lance said, and Keith had closed his eyes by now, simply trying to breathe through the sensation. “Any news on the racing front?”

“Huh?” Keith answered intelligently. If his feet could make sound they’d be purring right now. “Oh right,” he mumbled, coming back to himself. “I’ve been looking into rally racing, talking to some potential sponsors.”

“What’s that?”

“Racing, but over long distances, under critical conditions. Some you even have to build your own vehicle from scratch. It’s intense, but wild.” Keith dropped a hand over his face, shielding his eyes from the light.

“So like,” Lance said, voice even and fingers undulating over his ankle and lower calf now. “Would you do that here? Where would you go for that?”

Keith sighed, nearly becoming one with the couch. Lance began to work his hands upward, back to Keith’s legs, like he had earlier that morning. It felt like touching heaven, _fuck_.

“Nah,” Keith answered. “I’d have to go to like, Argentina, and really work at building up my endurance. You drive in teams, guys take turns at the wheels since you drive day and night, over closed off roads through crazy high altitudes. If I end up doing well, I could do intercontinental races, go from London to Sydney or to Mexico. It’d take me all over the world.”

Keith smiled into his hand. It was fucking perfect, getting to travel the world and really _race_ again. And see things, and have adventures. The only thing that would make it more perfect would be to take Lance with him, and Shiro maybe, be the perfect dream team.

But Shiro had his course set out for him. Finish his GED, get a degree, and get into education and counseling. Keith wasn’t happy about it, but Shiro as a counselor was probably the best fucking move, not just for him, but for all the kids he’d help. Fuck, that guy could psychoanalyze like a motherfucker.

And Lance wanted to be a pilot. He’d travel the world in his own way, and Keith would just have to make it on his own. He mentally shrugged; he always had. Lance would probably forget him once he went away to pilot school, or wherever it was people went to learn to be a pilot.

“So, you’ll just. Leave,” Lance said. Keith didn’t lift his hand.

“Well, gotta get a sponsor first,” he said.

“Those easy to find?”

“No,” Keith said. “But I have connections, been talking to this group called Marmora, maybe that’s a lead. I’ll find one.”

“...Soon?”

Keith inhaled sharply at a particular press into his inner knee. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Gotta talk to Shiro about it. But,” Keith smirked. “I think he’ll be fine. With Allura and everything.”

“Yeah,” Lance said dismissively. “He’ll be fine.” Lance pushed Keith’s legs off him, and Keith laid there for another moment while Lance stood. Lance walked over and punched Keith’s shoulder, “That’s for cheating,” he said.

He left. Shiro didn’t come home until nearly two in the morning, humming while he traipsed through the kitchen. Keith heard him from the couch, where he’d inadvertently fallen asleep.

He heard Shiro open the fridge, grab something, and then Keith heard the ripping of paper, the mail probably.

“Fuck,” he heard Shiro say under his breath. “Fuck.”

Keith didn’t think anything of it. Until the next morning anyway.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Oh, B O Y S.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ousaiByU1ko)


	16. A Sweet Sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The One Where A Problem is Discovered

Lance pressed the flower from Keith’s garden between two sheets of paper. He folded it carefully and tucked it in the envelope, the one Hunk had written Lance’s old address on. He wasn’t willing to bet this father wouldn’t throw something out if it had his handwriting on it.

Lance couldn’t help himself. He rubbed his nose lightly across the envelope, a private gesture of affection. He smiled when he could smell the scent of the flower through the paper.

Lance looked at the name one last time, “Lupe McClain,” and placed a stamp over the top right corner. It wasn’t much, he figured, and not equal to the money she’d been sending to his bank account, but she’d get it.

At least, he thought, he hoped so.

Lance skipped out the front door, letting the screen slam shut behind him as he walked across the front lawn. The dandelions were getting taller, he noticed, and he kicked over the head of one lightly. It swayed in the breeze he’d created and Lance hummed to himself as he reached the mailbox, tucking the letter in carefully and lifting the red metal flag to notify the Rosie, the mail lady.

“That’s something you fucking share with the class you colossal shithead!” Lance’s ears perked when he heard Keith’s shouts, followed by various crashes and the telltale noise that was probably Keith launching himself at Shiro.

Lance walked over and stood in front of their lawn, half-amused and ready to hit Keith with a line when he invariably came out of the house beet-red and irritated.

When Keith did come out of the house though, Lance kept his mouth fucking shut.

Keith was madder than Lance could remember him seeing. Forget how he’d been when he’d gotten kicked out of Saint Mary’s, he looked ready to deal with the devil right now.

Keith didn’t even see Lance as he peeled out of the driveway with Red, his bike. Lance turned and watched him speed off, and gave a curious look back to the house. Shiro was standing in the doorway, panting. He had bags under his eyes Lance could see from where he stood.

“Uh,” Lance started, putting his hands on his hips. Shiro gave an awkward wave, and that told Lance something was Definitely Wrong. Shiro never extended courtesies to Lance, not unless he was hiding something. Like that time he’d asked Lance “How are you?” after he’d been caught masterbating in Keith’s room. Something about revenge for stolen socks. Whatever gets your rocks off dude, Lance had told him.

“ _ Is _ there something you want to share with the class?” Lance shrugged his shoulders, asking for a response.

“It’s,” Shiro said, running a hand through his greasy hair. “It’s nothing. I—” he pointed back inside the house and backed away from the door. “I gotta get ready for work.”

Shiro didn’t even bother to shut the door, he just walked away and into the house. He left Lance blinking on the sidewalk, wondering just what kind of fucked up situation he was dealing with.

He hadn’t shaken that morning’s weird display entirely when he called Lana, but it was far enough back in his mind he didn’t mention it to her. Besides, he had bigger things to discuss.

“I can’t believe mom’s been sending you the money,” Lana said. “Especially when like, I’m broke as shit over here.”

“Talk to me when you’re socially outcast from the fam, dude.”

Lana rolled her eyes on his phone screen as they Skyped. “Fair,” she mumbled. 

“Also, there was something else I wanted to ask you about,” Lance said, talking a little too loud to register as normal.

“The fuck?” she said. “More drama? I swear to fucking god things just never cool down there. What now baby bro? Set something on fire?”

“Uh, no.” He bit his lip and looked away from the screen. She waited for him, and worked on her thesis on the meantime, if the clicking on her laptop was an indication. “I think. Like. I’ve got a problem.”

“Spill it. I don’t have all day. This cetacean data won’t analyze itself.”

“I’m fucking in love?” he asked it like he still wasn’t sure about it. I mean, he totally was, he just hadn’t said it out loud before, and saying it aloud made it sound dumber than it felt.

Lana’s fingers halted and she looked at Lance through her computer camera. “Aww,” she said, face softening and full lips turning up into a genuine smile. “Keith?”

“Goddammit bitch,” he sighed. “How the fuck you know that?”

She held up a finger. “He’s all you talk about—” she held up another, “He’s gorgeous as fuck—” she added a third, “He’s a bad boy and we all need at least one of those on our bedposts—” she held up a fourth and looked at him the same way when he’d admitted he’d stolen her Sailor Moon socks. “And say what you want but that dude has always been there for you, and you’ve been there for him. I’ve seen worse matches.”

Lance coughed into his elbow and rubbed his face, trying to dispel some of the redness he felt growing there. “Yeah, only problem is he’s leaving.”

“Leaving? Where?”

“Argentina.”

“What?! Lance, explain please, you’re being overdramatic.”

He rolled his eyes. “Okay fine, a little, but he really could be moving to Argentina. He’s looking into different kinds of racing. He wants to fucking. Travel. Or whatever.”

“Oh, like you? How dare he have interests that coincide with your own goals, how selfish.” Lance pouted at her and she sighed. “So what’s the plan?”

Lance bit his lip and looked at the clock. He needed to get ready for work. “I. I think logically. I should tell him.”

“Good boy.”

“But. I. Don’t. Want to.”

“Pussy.”

Lance gave her a look. “Well, any advice would be nice.”

“You know you need to tell him,” she leveled. “So just figure out the least awkward way of doing it. Make sure it’s you and him and no one will interrupt, tell him what you’re feeling and then just let him take it from there.” Lance frowned. That was shitty advice, and it was vague too. “Really Lance, when it comes to stuff like this, being vulnerable is the last thing you want to be, but the only thing to actually get you what you want. If you want Keith, you gotta take the plunge. Be a man. Tell him your goddamn feelings.”

“Yeah,” Lance scoffed sarcastically. “That’s exactly what Dad would do.”

“Dad is a macho shithead who kicked his wife’s favorite son out of his home for antiquated, baseless logic. Don’t do a thing he would do. Do what Lance would do. Charge headfirst and confess your undying love then kiss him until he pukes.”

“Romantic,” Lance tried to sound annoyed but now the image was in his head of kissing Keith and it kind of made his face do this goofy smiley thing.

“Do it. Or your cow is dishonored. All right,” she said. “I gotta go. Call me the moment you grow some balls and tell him.”

“Will do,” he said. “Love you.”

“I love you too,” she smiled and winked. “Pansy,” she said before hanging up.

Lance did a shit job at work that night but still managed to rake in the tips. He messed up several orders, giving them to incorrect tables, but managed to charm every person into a laugh when he would just shrug his shoulders exaggeratedly and purse his lips comically. “Oops,” he said, and swiveled his hips as he ran over to place the right plates at the right table.

He couldn’t stop imagining the situation, of confessing to Keith that he fucking liked him and wanted to fucking be more with him. Whatever. They didn’t even have to be more, they could just do more, stay buddies with like, an extra side of dick-touching. Something. Anything. It hadn’t been all that long since Lance had discovered the beast that lay in his heart but now it tore and roared at him, demanding he do something about it before his heart was torn to shreds.

And Lance, while usually careful enough to construct a logistical way out before charging forward, wasn’t about to ignore what he wanted.

He wanted Keith, and if all he had to do was tell him he loved him to go where he wanted to go, then that was an easy pill to swallow.

Theoretically.

Lance didn’t bother ringing the bell or knocking on the door, he just let himself in. Like honestly the thought of knocking on the door weirded him out more than confessing his more-likely-than-not unrequited love for Keith. Like, nah.

He popped his head in the door and saw Shiro sitting at the kitchen table, back toward the door. He had his head in one hand while the other scribbled notes on a pad of paper. Lance walked up and leaned over Shiro’s shoulder, looking down at the papers sprawled all over the small round table. Bills, receipts, all that good stuff. 

Lance whistled quietly and Shiro startled at the noise, unaware of Lance’s entrance. “Late start on taxes?” Lance asked sympathetically. 

Shiro looked like he was about to cry suddenly, and Lance promptly freaked the fuck out.

“Whoa dude,” he said, taking a seat next to him. “I can call my sister, she’s like a data science freak, she’s good with numbers. Whatever it is she can pull your ass out of it, no sweat.”

Shiro shook his head, tossing it back and forth as he gripped his hair harshly between his fingers.

“This isn’t really something,” Shiro said, sighing and letting go of his hair. It stood on end and Lance could see his red-rimmed eyes probably already had practice at that crying thing. “Anyone can fix.”

Lance’s stomach began to feel empty, like he’d just thrown up a pound of cotton candy. “Shiro?” he asked. “Is this why Keith stomped out this morning?”

Lance took a look at the table again, trying to find something to make sense out of all of this. In answer to Lance’s silent query, Shiro reached over and picked up a piece of paper and handed it to Lance. Shiro dropped his head into his arms.

Lance flicked his gaze from Shiro, concerned, to the letter. His brow became more and more furrowed as he read further.

“Wait,” Lance said. “Can’t you go to court for this? Renter’s court? Like, how can they just kick you out if you’ve already deposited everything for the year?”

“They give it back,” Shiro answered, rubbing his face as he sat up. “And dissolve the contract.”

“Fuck no,” Lance said, angry. “They can’t do that. You signed a year-long lease just two months ago,” he slapped the paper with the back of his hand and stared at Shiro. “You gotta fight this.”

“I already talked it over with Coran next door,” Shiro said. “The contract is void now that the bank is taking over. Mr. Zarkon no longer owns the property, and as far as I know, banks don’t exactly lease homes.” He shook his head and leaned back in his seat, done. Tired. Quitting. “There’s nothing I can do.”

“Bullshit,” Lance said. “We’ll figure something out.”

“You know,” Shiro said. “You’re not saying anything Keith hasn’t already said.”

“Well he’s fucking right!” Lance said, throwing down the letter onto the table. “You need to fight this.”

“Lance, there’s nothing I can do,” Shiro’s defeated look turned dark. “Except pack my bags and find a new place to live. And not anywhere here.”

Lance blinked. “What?”

“I’ve been looking at places all day,” Shiro said. “My finances just can’t handle the rent in this area. It’s too fucking expensive. All the tech firms keep moving in and jacking up the house values. Even apartments are too much, I can’t afford all this and continue to pay for Ryou’s classes.” His mouth became a thin line while Lance’s heart dropped to his stomach. “God I just—I can’t anymore.”

“Shiro—maybe you just need a second opinion. I mean, maybe you can move in with Pidge’s family, they have that extra room, or maybe Hunk’s parents can—”

“Lance,” Shiro said patiently. He dropped his hand onto Lance’s forearm and Lance refused to look him in the eye. The thought of Shiro just giving up like this. It fucking. It wasn’t fucking Shiro. How could he let something like this take him down? “Sometimes life sucks. It deals you a shitty deck, but that doesn’t mean life is shitty. Me and Keith moving away—”

“Where will you go?” Lance asked. If his voice broke a little at the end, only Shiro’s slight squeeze of his arm told him he’d heard it.

Shiro shook his head. “I honestly don’t know. But, I don’t think Keith and I can find a place together. I’m going to see if the Holts will give him their spare bedroom, and I’ll…”

Shiro trailed off. He never finished that sentence, and Lance didn’t want him to anyway.

Lance looked down at the papers. It was clear from the frantic scrawling Shiro had been at it awhile. Numbers upon numbers, several budgets recalculated. Shiro wasn’t going down lightly, Lance could see that much. 

But money didn’t come from nothing, he knew that. Lance knew that better than anyone. If it hadn’t been for his sister supporting his phone bill, Hunk for finding Lance that job, his mom for sending these deposits to him, and Shiro and Keith having taken him in to begin with? God, Lance realized, sitting at the table while Shiro swallowed the last bit of hope he had. God, Lance was so lucky to have the people he had in his life.

“I’m,” Shiro said. He stood and looked down at the table one last time before shutting his eyes and rubbing his hand across his forehead. “I’m going to bed. If you see Keith, just, maybe talk about something else. He’s still really pissed about this.”

“About you separating.”

Shiro clenched his fist and stared at the floor, eyes unseeing. “This was the only home he had for a long time. I’d be pissed if I let him down like this, too.”

“Dude,” Lance said. “You’re missing the point.”

Shiro looked at Lance, a question in his eye.

“Keith loves you like a brother. You leaving him,  _ that’s _ what’s killing him right now.” Lance pursed his lips into a frown and looked out beyond the door, into the night. “Whatever you do, you need to stick together. We do. You’re my family too Shiro, I don’t want you to go either.”

Shiro put his hand gently on Lance’s shoulder. Lance grabbed at it. “Keith’s place is here for now, until he’s finished with his drag racing and moves on to something greater. Your place is here too, you have school, your family,” Shiro smiled, and it was about as welcome to Lance as a slap to the face. “Mine is out there somewhere. We all need to move on sometimes. In order to grow.”

Bullshit, Lance wanted to respond, but Shiro was already moving to his room. When the door shut quietly behind him, Lance ran out of the house. He stepped on the fresh green lawn, the one surrounded by those iteas he and Hunk planted, and the small camellia bush he knew would grow if someone continued to care for it. He saw Shiro’s car, and Pidge’s bike on the front lawn.

And then he looked and saw Keith’s bike. Keith? 

Lance whipped his head around, trying to figure out where the bastard was. How had he just blown by Lance this morning and not said anything? Lance was his  _ best friend _ and he  _ still _ wasn’t telling him shit. After all these years Keith still kept his mouth fucking sealed about the things Lance should know about,  _ wanted  _ to know about. Fucking  _ why _ ?

Lance looked into the window of Keith’s room, but a quick look told him he wasn’t inside. Could he have gone to Hunk’s? He wondered. Then he heard a thump, and a drag, and Lance looked up. 

He ran to the side of the house and climbed, ignoring the small scrapes on his hands and fingers he was earning. He hoisted himself up, onto the roof, and rolled onto the shingles. He looked around and saw nothing, so he stepped lightly, and walked up to the ridge of the roof. When he peaked over the edge, he saw a familiar black tuft of hair, half-matted against Keith’s head from his bike helmet.

Lance was pretty sure his voice carried over to the next town. “Where the fuck have you been?”

Keith whipped his head around, and stared at Lance with big brown eyes. Lance was never actually certain if he’d call them brown, or black, or even a really dark gray. But right now eye color was the last thing on his mind as Lance climbed over the ridge and plopped down next to Keith.

“Unless you were out increasing your credit score that was a shit thing to do,” Lance yelled, sitting and facing Keith, hands on his knees. “You can’t bail anytime there’s a crisis. Not with him, not when it’s family.”

“Family bails on each other all the time,” Keith mumbled, looking out at the neighborhood. “You of all people should know that.”

“No,” Lance shouted, getting even closer to Keith. “I don’t, because my family is right here, beside me and below me. And the only time you’ve ever disappointed me is with each goddamn haircut you get you  _ still _ refuse to cut off that mullet.”

Keith scoffed and turned away from Lance. Lance punched his shoulder but Keith hardly moved. “Listen to me! We’ll figure something out! We always do, but you can’t give up, or else  _ everything _ is lost!”

“Everything  _ is _ lost Lance!’ Keith shouted back, swiveling to Lance, face inches apart. Then he stood up suddenly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “We can’t live here and there’s nowhere else to go! Shiro is fucking dead set on leaving and I won’t stop him, not if he really wants to go.”

Lance stood up with him, determined not to let him get away from him. “You think he wants to go?! How dumb fucking are you?!”

“Fucking dumb!” Keith shouted, so angry Lance could see the veins in his neck. “Dumb enough to think this was home! Dumb enough to think life wasn’t total shit! Dumb enough to be in love with you!”

The words echoed into the night, and Lance stopped breathing.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who like, don’t have to skype your family on Sundays. Like. what do you do. Do you call other people’s families? I’m curious.
> 
> So AlmiaRanger definitely guessed correct on this and ManamiNightray was close behind! Anyone else guess correct?
> 
> [Song of the Day (Totally for Shiro)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KIiUqfxFttM)


	17. An Overdue Crescendo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The One We've All Been Waiting For

Keith dropped down, sitting and spreading his legs and slumping over childishly. It was fucking over, his life, his goals—everything. Might as well just take him out and shoot him.

“Huh?” Lance asked. Because of course Lance would respond to his idiotic feelings in an idiotic way.

“You fucking heard me,” Keith said, laying down on the roof, hands over his eyes and  _ sulking _ . He couldn’t believe he’d just fucking said that, but also. He was fucking tired. Of  _ everything _ . And goddammit if he was going to leave might as well leave his heart behind too.

“You don’t get to—“ Lance fumble this words, flustered. “No—no no no, you don’t get to— _ This isn’t how this works.  _ You don’t get to beat me at confessions of the year!”

Lance grabbed Keith by his shirt and pulled him up, and their noses nearly touched. Keith wanted to run off since he knew Lance was going into another of his wild competitive streaks, and Keith didn’t really have time for this.

“I’m in love with  _ you!” _ Lance yelled wildly and Keith didn’t know what to fucking believe anymore. “I’ve been in love with you for months and you don’t get to tell me you love me first because  _ that’s not how this works!” _

“Oh yeah?” Keith said, snarling in his face. “I’ve loved you for fucking years! And I’m pissed about it!”

Lance blinked. “Years?! How could you fucking love me for years? I didn’t even know you were gay!”

Of course he didn’t, Keith thought, nearly throwing his hands in the air. Literally everyone else did, even fucking  _ Hunk _ knew about it without explicitly being told, but Lance fucking didn’t. Fucking, this was his fucking  _ life _ . “Yeah well, now you know you blind dipshit!” Keith hollered, slapping Lance’s hands away. He was so over this, Lance was bullshitting him and Keith hated this, this—being in the spotlight, being told what he thought and felt wasn’t enough, or wasn’t right. How could he fucking help it if he just didn’t—goddammit—

“You don’t just  _ not _ tell someone that! How could you not fucking tell me that, your  _ best _ friend?!”

“Why does it fucking matter?” Keith asked, and he could literally feel the veins jutting out of his neck he was so angry.

“Because you never tell me anything Keith!” Lance shouted. “I mean I’m your best friend and there’s still  _ other _ shit I don’t know about you! Like what happened in that year you were sent to the desert? Why do you sleep in your fucking clothes? What’s your favorite fucking color?”

Keith’s eyes couldn’t be wider and he was so  _ mad _ he felt like he had the strength to throw a damn car. Lance’s breaths came in short, and he was so close to Keith, but there was a fucking divide in front of them. Keith wanted to slap it away because it had no business being there. After all of this and Lance liked him and he liked Lance and they still couldn’t fucking  _ communicate _ .

Lance dropped down on his butt, sitting next to Keith. He placed his head in his hands and shut his eyes. Keith caught his breath and willed the world to go faster and just throw him off the fucking planet.

Beside him, Lance was quiet. Keith had no idea what he was thinking.

“I was in a trailer with a crazy fucked up couple and ran away,” Keith said quietly, grinding out the words like chilis in a mortar. “I sleep in my clothes because you never know when you need to leave, and I’d rather run out of the house in actual clothes than have nothing on my back if the house burns down.”

Lance tilted his head to look at Keith. His eyes were cool and calculating, curious. His mouth was a firm line and he barely moved while Keith’s hands clenched repeatedly as he leaned them against his knees. Keith always felt like the world was against him, and even with Lance beside him, listening, he still felt like he was alone in this. 

“And it’s red.”

Lance sighed and lifted his head.

“That last one is obvious,” Lance mumbled. Keith rolled his eyes and leaned his head away from Lance, so he couldn’t see his face. He heard Lance drop a knee and adjust to face Keith, and he couldn’t entirely control his hands from shaking in anticipation.

“I want to know this stuff. It’s not cool that you think you gotta hide this shit from me. I literally want to know everything about you because—“

“Because why?” Keith snapped, turning back around. “So you can have an excuse to fucking leave? Or feel like you’re suddenly better than me?”

“Fuck you!” Lance retorted, angry and leaning closer. “You know I fucking think you light the stars at night because I fucking love you, okay? Even after all this—after our stupid conversations and  _ you _ always pushing me away and I never know  _ why,  _ I’m in fucking love—“ Lance looked like he swallowed his tongue.

Keith couldn’t breathe. He was sitting two inches and he couldn’t breathe. Lance had been serious?

“Why?” he asked. He swallowed, and it felt like swallowing an entire piece of beef without chewing it. Except it was his heart in his throat and Lance was looking at him like he really was about to run.

Then the motherfucker  _ laughed _ .

“Why?” Lance repeated. “You want to know why? How do I even—how do I even answer that?”

“How about with a fucking response instead of making me feel like an asshole?” Keith muttered.

Lance gave him a cross look and then reached out. He grabbed Keith’s sweaty hand and Keith looked at Lance’s smooth one like it was a grenade.

“You’re funny as shit,” Lance said. “You have the best eyes, your hair is cool as fuck, and you race like a motherfucking badass.” Lance pulled Keith’s hand and laid it in his own lap, cradling it between his own.

Keith could feel his heart beating, and it was so loud in his ears it sounded like a foghorn.

“Everytime I’m with you I’m having the best time of my life. Because we argue, and that’s shit, but also even after everything we disagree on you fucking. I don’t know. Don’t actually care. I don’t actually care. Like we both care enough not to care. I just wanna always hang out with you, and—” He laughed and it sounded a little hysterical. Keith’s mouth flipped up in a tiny grin and he couldn’t stop the yearning in his gut.

“And I wanna do stupid things with you, like, forever. I’m in love with you because you’re mine, and you’ve always been mine,” Lance blinked at him, and Keith could see the stars behind him, highlighting him in the night. “It just. Took me awhile to figure it out.”

Keith kissed him. 

He nearly bit his lips off as he leapt over the short space between them and shoved their bodies, their mouths together.

Keith had his hands on either side of Lance’s face and  _ god _ his skin was fucking soft. Keith pressed their lips together and it wasn’t as frantic as he’d thought it’d be. It was needy because he fucking did, he needed this. He needed Lance and he  _ wanted _ Lance. It was a vulnerability he felt skin-deep but if Lance would always be there it was something, he thought, it was something—Maybe it was something he could accept.

When Keith pulled away to look at Lance through his eyelashes, he groaned aloud when he saw Lance was fucking staring at him while trying to open Keith’s mouth with his tongue.

Keith pushed him back a second. “You fucking weirdo, why are your eyes open?”

“Because it’s my first fucking kiss, and maybe I want to remember it, you—you fucking— _ fuck _ .” Lance sighed and pushed forward again, practically falling into Keith’s arms to kiss him again.

They didn’t do a lot of talking after that, and if Lance kept his eyes open after that Keith didn’t know about it because he closed his eyes and gave in to the dizziness and the levity and he kissed Lance like he was flying into the sun.

Lance’s breath was warm and he kept making little noises that made Keith want to die. Keith ran his hands through his hair and Lance responded in turn, grabbing at Keith’s overgrown locks and pulling slightly, gently, and rolling his fingers through the strands. Keith couldn’t stop running his hands down Lance’s neck, then pull at his shoulders. Everytime he pushed, Lance followed and it made him ache and burn at the same time.

Shit, he thought. He knew kissing was good but it’d never been like this before.

Lance pushed at him after a while and it took a few tries before Keith finally parted, wet lips smacking against Lance’s as he dragged his bottom lip between his teeth before letting go. Damn.

“So um,” Lance said, and Keith was almost pissed at how good he looked in Keith’s arms, staring at him, lips red and cheeks pink. “What’s the plan?”

“Uh,” Keith said, licking his lips, suddenly dry now that Lance wasn’t attached to the other end of them. “Have sex on the roof?”

“Please don’t!” shouted Hunk from his house. “But I totally support this!”

“About fucking time you losers!” Pidge shouted, from Hunk’s direction.

“I always knew you two had brains!” shouted Shiro from below, and Keith stomped on the roof at that. Fucking traitor.

Keith turned back to Lance when he carded his fingers again through Keith’s hair. Lance blinked at him when he noticed Keith’s questioning gaze, then blushed. “It’s softer than I’d thought it’d be.”

Keith didn’t acknowledge that with a response. He simply leaned forward and kissed him again.

Keith took off his jacket and put it under Lance’s head to cushion it from the rough tiles, and pressed himself into Lance’s front. He reached down between them and dipped his hand into Lance’s pants, who promptly freaked out—quietly, thank fuck because seriously everyone could hear them—and pushed at him.

“Dude, what the—fuck—” he dipped his head back and rolled his hips toward Keith, who pressed a smile to his lips. Lance stopped talking and started panting as Keith stroked him through his boxers, and then took the final plunge and reached inside.

“Holyshitdudeyourhandisonmydick,” Lance whispered breathlessly, grabbing Keith’s hair and pulling. Lance was already hard in his hand and leaking and Keith nosed at Lance’s hair, breathing harshly as he struggled to hold himself up and stroke Lance.

Luckily he didn’t have to worry about that for long. “Fucking, is that it?” Keith asked Lance.

Whether Lance was flushing from his orgasm or from embarrassment Keith didn’t know. “Dude, I wasn’t expecting it. Like.  _ You _ couldn’t last longer.”

Keith raised his eyebrow, inviting the challenge. Lance scrambled up and stared into Keith’s eyes as he gingerly placed his fingers over his jeans button. Keith kissed him while Lance flicked the button open and quietly, slowly, pulled down the zipper. Keith sighed into Lance’s mouth, who caught it and swallowed it as he steadily carded his fingers through Keith’s treasure trail, following it to Keith’s—yeah okay, already pretty hard—dick.

Lance grabbed hold of it and Keith whispered a curse into the night. Lance held onto his back tightly, which he was grateful for, because he really didn’t want a Darwin Award for dying via breaking his neck by falling off a roof while getting a handjob from his best friend.

Boyfriend? Whatever, Keith mentally shrugged as Lance sped up his pace. Keith didn’t last all that much longer than Lance, but long enough he was able to grin and whisper, “I win,” which Lance punched him in the shoulder for.

Keith kissed Lance, hard and long, and fell with him back onto the roof. They laid in each other’s arms with Keith’s jacket still under them and the stars above them, twinkling knowingly.

They might be long dead projections of light, but Keith got the feeling they saw this coming too.

Keith looked into Lance’s eyes when they both paused for breath, having exhausted themselves from tension and the subsequent resolution. Lance ran his fingers down Keith’s jaw.

“So,” he said, voice low and a little hoarse from all their kissing. “This. You really wanna do this?”

Keith nodded. He didn’t really have the words Lance wanted to hear. That one shitty declaration was as wordy as he got, concerning this stuff anyway. He could only really show Lance that he meant it. It’d take awhile, but he was willing to put in the time.

“How will this work?” Lance asked, looking down, somewhere in the vicinity of Keith’s neck. “If you have to go. You’re not—” he swallowed and Keith ran a hand down his side. “You’re not just gonna leave? I mean, I just gotta know dude, I can’t take that shit if you just….”

Keith wrapped an arm around him and pulled him closer.

“That year I was gone,” he said. “I never called you. I never messaged or texted or whatever.”

Lance had a pinched look to him, but he nodded.

“Truth is I didn’t want to. I wanted to forget, especially after everything that happened. Those people. They were fucked  _ up _ Lance. I felt fucked up, just by association.” Keith watched as Lance’s suspicious look started to fall. “I remembered you every fucking day. I never stopped thinking about what you would do if you were with me or what you’d say. Thinking that shit, it got me through that. I was able to calm myself down when I thought about you next to me, cracking some joke about—”

Keith cleared his throat and tilted his head to look up at the sky. “And when I came back. When you saw me at school that day, and you fucking looked at me, shit dude, I was so fucking scared. I thought you’d like, pretend you didn’t know me.”

When Keith looked back at Lance he was smiling back at him, remembering with him. 

“You fucking ran up and slapped me on the back so many times I felt it for days,” Lance chuckled nervously, giddy. “I just never fucking imagined you’d want to see me again but you fucking called me your friend and sat with me at lunch and did every other stupid thing with me from that day on.”

Lance opened his mouth to say something, probably something snarky to offset his embarrassment, but instead he just captured Keith’s lips again and kissed him until they were blue.

“Whatever happens,” Lance said. “You’re my best friend. I don’t give a shit how this goes down. I’ll never regret you.”

“I’m all in,” Keith said. And he really fucking meant it.

Finally it got too cold to stay on the roof, and honestly, they both needed a fucking shower. Keith’s pants were practically creaking as he climbed down and Lance couldn’t stop laughing at the whole thing. “Who’s fucking idea was it, huh?” he’d goaded Keith. “Fucking midnight confessions on the roof, you sap.”

“You’re the one who confessed back,” Keith said, jabbing his fingers into his ribs. “And challenged me to a fucking come-off.”

“Come-off?” Lance laughed under his breath.

“Fuck you,” he said. Unexpectedly Lance surged forward and kissed his ear. Keith turned to him and he could feel the blush spreading from his neck.

“Skank,” Lance said, eyes flickering in the dark.

“Loser,” Keith said, and let go of his hand. He watched him walk over to Hunk’s house, and finally, Keith let out the breath he’d been holding all night.

He took a much needed shower and when he got to his room, he cleaned the whole thing, still riled from the night, from the confession, from Lance giving him a pretty fucking great meat beat. Finally he got into bed and when he woke up the next morning, Shiro had a look that could’ve rivaled Gram-gram’s for all the knowing it held.

“On the roof?” Shiro asked. “Really?”

“Couldn’t’ve played it cool, could you?” Keith said. Some of the anger from the previous day rushed in, and he found himself glaring at Shiro until he scoffed in defeat and quietly went back to drinking his coffee.

“You’re really letting this go?” Keith asked, dropping his spoon in his bowl. He hated when Shiro and he were on the outskirts, and even if he was still happy and giddy about Lance, they still had a very real problem ahead of them. “You’re not gonna fight it?”

“Sometimes there’s nothing to fight,” Shiro said and Keith pushed back his chair and leaned back, groaning at Shiro’s inaction. “I mean, the house can’t be ‘un’-foreclosed dude, and I don’t have the money to buy it. I just—I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I want you to care!” Keith shouted. “I want you to stick up and fight! This isn’t like you, to just,” he slammed his hands on the table and lifted them, fed up. “Give up? I mean, Shiro, you’ve been here long enough. Can’t we go to court? Can’t we figure out a way that we can stay? At least through the contract so we can find someplace else together?”

Shiro looked down into his coffee, and Keith  _ hoped _ for a minute. He hoped Shiro would figure it out, that he didn’t care about the goddamn house, but they needed to stick together, they had to stay together. Shiro was his family, the only person who’d stayed with him this long and gave a shit about him. Shiro didn’t just pay for his rent and clothes and food, he gave Keith  _ shelter _ .

Keith had never had that before.

Shiro sighed and stood, taking his coffee to the sink and pouring it out. He’d still had about half a cup left.

“I gotta go to work,” Shiro said, walking over the Keith. He attempted to put his hand on his shoulder but Keith flinched harshly when Shiro made contact. Keith silently fumed when he saw Shiro curl his hand into a fist and then just. Leave.

Keith nearly threw his bowl into the sink, and he was almost pleased it cracked when it made contact. He took in a deep breath and tried not to scream. Instead, he gripped the sides of the sink, until his knuckles were white, and he thought.

Whatever Shiro intended, Keith wasn’t going to just roll over and play nice. If Galra Enterprises and fucking  _ Zarkon _ thought they could just abandon the property without getting a word from Keith Kogane Lee, then they clearly hadn’t seen his track record.

And the record, Keith thought as he walked out the door to blow off steam for a run, was about to get a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Keith](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=suzwkw0dYmM)
> 
> [Lance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LcJm1pOswfM)
> 
> It ain't over yet folks. ;)


	18. A Memorable Foray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The One Where Some Baller Shit Goes Down

It was a giant, purple couch, the color of a famous polyester dinosaur you dearly wanted to forget, that belonged more in a mausoleum of the old and ugly items people should never have put on the market for sale, and it was on fire.

Flames licked its sides and Lance knew he needed to let go but Keith wasn’t letting go goddammit and even Hunk and Pidge were hanging on for dear life and if they weren’t abandoning ship then the fuck if he was going to.

Lance screamed, they all screamed, Hunk was crying and Keith was fucking _laughing_ ? and they were so going to die, they were so going to die, because it was a giant-fucking-ugly-purple couch on _fire_.

_And it was heading straight toward Zarkon’s house._

Back up a little bit.

Keith drummed his fingers on the table, frowning at the leftover pizza he insisted on eating cold for breakfast. Heathen, Lance thought as he mouthed at his orange.

“We can’t just let this go unanswered,” Keith said. “This means war.”

“Like, buddy,” Lance said. “I’m totally on board, but we need a plan. We can’t just like, set the guy’s house on fire or something.”

Keith frowned. “Why not?”

“Um, arson? And like three strikes you’re out? You’ve already been to juvie twice, we can’t risk another one.”

Keith rolled his eyes and rested his chin in his hand, thinking. Slowly though, because it was morning, and if there was one thing Keith was not, it was a morning person.

“What if we set something on fire, and then put it on his lawn?”

Lance pursed his lips and nodded. “That could work. What’re we thinking?”

“Well,” Keith thought aloud, tossing his crust to the side. “A car?”

Lance gave him a look. “It has to be big enough that he knows it’s a symbol of war, but not like, too big that the police would be alerted right away.”

“A chair? A table? A—” Keith perked up and pointed to their living room. “A couch!”

Lance looked at the couch dubiously. “Well, it would catch on fire easily,” he thought about it and it didn’t seem like a bad idea. I mean, clearly someone who left a burning couch on your lawn wanted revenge for something, but it wasn’t offensive enough if they got caught they’d be charged with like, an act of terrorism or whatever. They could say it was an accident.

“Yeah, and we could borrow a truck from Shiro’s work, so like, no license to be traced, ‘cause they’re all totals anyway. We drop it, set it on fire, boom, message received. How’s that for a plan?” Keith grinned and took a bite of his pizza.

Lance hummed. “Well it needs some work, and Hunk would have to be in the dark up until like, the last minute or he won’t come, but shit we need his massive arms. Pidge can be lookout. This could work, I think we got ourselves a working plan here.”

The two grinned at each other and finished their breakfasts. Then they went back to Keith’s room to make out a little, and let Pidge in on the plan when she got back from class.

She was totally on board, and even thought to disable the cameras temporarily at Shiro’s work so they wouldn’t get caught “borrowing” the truck. They’d totally return it, for sure, Lance told Hunk when he questioned him.

“But I mean why are we moving this lady’s couch at night I mean, why can’t we do it tomorrow?” Hunk asked. “And like, why does she want this couch from the side of the road like, doesn’t it have bugs and stuff in it? I mean, should we even be handling this stuff without gloves or masks or like, hazmat suits?”

“Because Hunk,” Lance grunted as he shoved the old couch onto the truck bed, the one he and Keith discovered on the side of the road. “She’s environmentally friendly, and she’s using the fabric from the couch to like,” he looked at Keith to help him out, but Keith just shrugged and secured the couch in the truck with the rope they’d bought at the dollar store. “Like, making baby clothes and shit, for Romanian orphans.”

Keith gave him a look and Lance shrugged helplessly. There’s only so much logical lying one can do in a day and he’d already maxed out with giving excuses to Shiro.

“Aw, dude,” Hunk smiled. “That’s so great. I’m so glad we’re part of this.”

“Sure thing buddy, now let’s go get it to her.”

Zarkon, like all villains, had a monstrously regal house. Like, the place had french doors and shit. And the yard was massive, like, no way this dude wasn’t rolling in dough and probably burning it just for funsies. Evil people did stuff like that right? Probably this guy was part of the mafia and had his little gangsters running around town extorting people for more money so they could like, buy drugs to oversell to people, or something.

Zarkon’s house also had a lot of property surrounding it. Keith drove them past the place and then continued on for another mile, then went off road and into the forest. Lance had to knock on the truck back window several times to get him to slow the fuck down because of the way he and Hunk were getting tossed like a bad salad.

Hunk ralphed like, four times too. That was gross.

“It’s okay,” Hunk said. “I missed the couch, but like, maybe watch your feet?” He blushed in the dark and Lance glared at him.

By the time they were backed up to Zarkon’s backyard, sloping precariously downward on a slope steeper than Lance thought safe, Hunk was a little suspicious.

“So like, why are we going in through the back? And not just the back, like the backyard, and we’re carrying it in by hand? Why is this not making sense?” Hunk asked, scratching his elbow.

“Because Lance lied to you and we’re not giving the couch to some lady who’s making orphan baby clothes, we’re going to set this shit on fire and launch it into Zarkon’s yard so he knows not to fuck with us,” Pidge answered to Hunk’s dropped jaw. “Smooth ride fellas?”

“I will kill you for that later,” Lance promised Keith. “But for now let’s get this shit on the road and bounce. This truck is balanced way too awkwardly on this hill for my liking.”

“Chill,” Keith assured. “I’ve parked on steeper.”

Lance grinned wickedly. “Babe is there a dirty joke in there somewhere?”

“If you’re talking about parking your dick in my ass—”

“Okay!” Pidge said, flailing her arms a bit. “Let’s unroll this bitch and go, I have homework I haven’t finished.”

“Dude, you are such a procrastinator,” Lance chided.

“We’re setting this thing on fire?!” Hunk whisper-yelled and everyone sighed and rolled their eyes. It always took a minute longer for Hunk to get on board with things he was unused to.

The group—minus Hunk who was still in crisis—got down to work. Lance and Pidge started coating the couch with lighting fluid, careful not to get themselves in the process, and also careful to avoid Hunks previous mess a la Keith’s awful driving. How that kid was a master racer for his age Lance would never understand.

By the time they were done Keith had undone all of the ropes and was getting out the lighter from his pocket, the one he’d stolen from Shiro. Who still fucking smoked when he thought no one was around, Lance had noted disapprovingly.

“All right,” Lance said. “Ready to back this bitch up? We’ll set it on fire at the last minute, okay? So step one—” Lance moved his hands, illustrating the plan, but then something happened he didn’t account for.

The truck started to move on its own, with all of them in the back.

“The fuck—” was all Keith was able to say before the brakes snapped, and the truck flew down the hill and toward Zarkon’s back fence.

The crew went wild, grabbing onto whatever was in front of them to stay within the truck and not fall out and break their neck in the process. For all of them, that happened to be the couch.

“What—the—fuck?!” Pidge screamed.

“Didn’t you pull the emergency brake?!” screamed Lance to Keith.

“I’m not an idiot!” he yelled back, and a branch nearly whipped off his face before he ducked right in time. “It must’ve snapped! It’s a salvage, how reliable can this shit be?!”

“You got a previously totaled truck to carry a 300-pound couch and placed it on a hill?!” Hunk screamed, then threw up over the side of the truck, projectile vomiting into the bushes as they rolled at breakneck speed. “Oh that’s great! Just swell thinking you two! Why do I trust you with anything? Pidge how could you allow this to happen?”

“I think it’s been well established I know nothing about cars!” Pidge screamed, gripping the couch and nearly flying off when they ran over a particularly large rock.

“And you trust us because you’re naive you fuck!” Lance yelled back, hollering and then bracing himself for impact. They were t-minus ten seconds from hitting the fence and Lance didn’t know if it would break under the pressure or if they’d all become swatted flies on the back of the Galra Enterprise’s owners lawn.

“Get on the couch!” Keith screamed at everyone.

“Are you insane? Lance screamed.

“Just trust me!” he shouted, and everyone complied, bending all too easily to the leader of their motley crew.

A few things happened, Lance could now recall, but only one of them really mattered.

Keith accidentally flicked the lighter when he’d jumped on the couch, and it came to life. It instantly lit the sides of the couch on fire, and spread rapidly over the fabric.

Lance didn't even have time to notice how fast the flames were spreading when they crashed into the fence, truck bed rolling easily through the wooden partition and careening them into the yard.

For a moment they were airborne. The couch slid seamlessly off the truck bed and flew into the night sky. Fire trailed beside them, with them, it was them. Flames caressed the sides of Lance’s face and hands. Then he looked down, and he saw the couch was, in fact, purple and not brown. Huh, he thought dizzily as the couch seemed to sail in slow motion toward the landscaped grounds below them. How about that.

When the hit the ground Lance’s teeth nearly cracked in his skull they landed so hard. The couch continued to slide into the dirt and grass and the flames rolled higher.

“Run!” he screamed, and the team leapt off the couch and into action. Hunk rolled on the ground, half because he’d fallen and half because you know, stop-drop-and-roll probably. Lance picked him up and ran faster than he had in his whole life. Keith pointed to the side gate, motioning for everyone to jump it.

Keith hopped it easily and Pidge followed quickly behind. Hunk vaulted over the thing like a stallion pursuing freedom and then it was Lance leaping over it. His foot got caught on the top rail and he crashed into the ground. Hunk and Keith stopped, picked him up and they ran.

Behind him, Lance heard the truck slam into the couch and what sounded like a bomb went off, and Lance was pretty sure right then they wouldn’t be getting that truck back.

They’d made it to a nearby public park and heard sirens. He grabbed Keith’s arm, “What do we do?” he yelled, and they were fucked, they were totally fucked.

Lance watched helplessly and Hunk whimpered when two giant headlights aimed in their direction. They huddled together and Lance fucking _prayed_ to sweet baby Jesus and Mary that shit didn’t go down like this, not tonight, not like this—

“Get in the car you—you arseholes!” came a familiar shout. Lance looked up and saw a dark face surrounded by white hair. For a second he thought he’d died because what the fuck—

“Gram-gram?” he asked, and the car horn honked.

“You dipshit it’s Allura!” Keith yelled and grabbed Lance’s sleeve, pulling him along.

“Oh that makes more sense,” he mumbled and stumbled into the car. Allura turned off her headlights when they all got in and she slammed on the gas, racing down the street in her black Prius, quiet and gentle as a fucking breeze.

“You stupid, _stupid_ children!” she yelled. But she yelled quietly, because it was like, three in the morning at this point and any loud noise—um, _louder_ noise—would wake up the whole fancy neighborhood and bring Scotland Yard to their bumper. “I don’t know what it is you’ve done, but I’ve been driving for the last thirty minutes looking for you and you being near _that_ man’s house is certainly no coincidence.”

“So um, you didn’t like, hear anything then?” Lance asked.

Another loud _bang_ went off and Allura clenched the driving wheel harder.

“I’ve heard enough to know all of you are _extremely_ stupid,” she said. Keith rolled his eyes and glared right at her.

“We’re not taking this lying down,” he said sharply. “I know Shiro’s not doing anything about this, but we are, and sorry if you don’t like it but it’s not really your call _princess_.” He sneered what the kids had been calling her as a term of endearment, princess, like it had a nasty taste.

She shook her head. “You really are a fool,” she said. “You think Shiro is taking this lying down? He’s been trying to get a loan from the bank, and you pulling this kind of stunt is _exactly_ the sort of thing banks don’t look lightly on, if someone were to find out and press charges for example,” she let out a sharp breath. “Possibly we’ll be lucky enough to not have that happen, since the gentleman who owns the house in question is in prison awaiting trial for extortion, murder and colluding with foreign governments.”

Lance whipped his head and leaned forward from the backseat, pushing Hunk slightly, who was wide-eyed and gaping, still in temporary shock. And also, still trying not to throw up.

“You mean, Shiro’s trying to get a loan?” Pidge asked from beside Hunk also squeezing in to look at Allura. “Why?”

“He needs another five thousand dollars to get enough to put a down payment on the house,” Allura said, looking at her quickly through her rear view mirror. “To buy it. To keep it, so he and Keith won’t be split up and have to move.”

She glared at Keith before returning her eyes to the road. “He didn’t want to say anything because he didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up. But he does care, and he is in just as much pain as all of you in having to leave.

“That place has been his home for three years, and everyone he loves is in that neighborhood. He’d be devastated if he had to leave.” She huffed and slowed her speed, finally turning on her headlights when they were in a familiar area and the sirens weren’t accosting their ears. “I’m surprised I, of all people, am the only one to have figured that out.”

Lance looked over at Keith, who appeared a hair away from snapping and jumping out the window. He also looked ashamed.

“Now,” Allura said. “I don’t want him knowing what you all have been up to, so tonight you’re staying at my place and I’ll tell him that we were up _all_ night doing practice SATs.”

“I’m already graduated,” Keith mumbled from the passenger’s seat.

Allura growled in response. “Then you are there because your friends are there and you are supporting _them_. Is that so hard to believe? Hmm? That you’d be there for your friends when they truly need you? Or should I turn this car back around and let you finish the job?”

Everyone in the car held their breath, but Keith was silent. He sighed and leaned back in his seat, letting the fight leak out of him.

“Um,” Hunk said hesitantly from the back. “How um, did you know what we were doing? Like, _I_ didn’t know what we were doing, and I did it. Oh my god, I did that. I lit a couch on fire and—”

“Hunk please don’t tell me any more details. The less I know about this the better,” Allura said, holding up a hand. Hunk nodded and clasped his hands over his mouth. “I saw you all sneaking out and I just knew it. I’ve worked with worse cases than you all before, so don’t go thinking you’re special,” she grumbled. “I once had to pull a seventh grader from a roof because she’d thrown up her chair there and then suddenly wanted it back. Never mind there wasn’t a ladder and she’d managed to crawl up the pipe drainage—”

Allura sighed and relaxed a little in her seat. “I know how much you care for Shiro. I thought you were probably out doing what you thought would help, which in your case, means acting out and getting into trouble. So. I followed you, and the rest,” she gritted through her teeth and pulled her car into her driveway. “As they say, is history.”

She put her arm around the passenger’s side seat and swiveled her head to look at all of them.

“And by the way,” she said. “The lie is not a lie. All of you, _even you Keith,_ will be taking a practice SAT test tonight, which I will grade, and hand over to Shiro tomorrow as proof.”

She gave them an eye as she opened her car door and unlocked the rest of the car. “And you better all hope you get above a 1600 because anyone who doesn’t is going to have to clean Coran’s toilets, I’ve already informed him of this.”

Lance got out of the car, and shut the door quietly behind him, cringing slightly when it echoed on the cement. He looked at the other miscreants beside him as he walked up to Allura’s house. Everyone looked rightfully ashamed, but when he locked gazes with Pidge, there was a gleam in her eye he matched. He looked to Hunk, who was barely able to hold in giggles, and when Keith locked eyes with him Lance had to look away to hold in his laughter.

They’d just fucking set a couch on fire _while on it_ into a rich dude’s backyard and so far, no one had been arrested. They just fucking _did that_ , and _Allura_ the _princess_ had bailed them out. Like, willingly.

Lance made sure to look extremely contrite as he passed Allura, who stood with her hands on her hips as she waited for them all to gather at the table to take their tests. They sat down and she distributed the No. 2 pencils, and waited until she saw each one of them begin the math section.

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” she said, voice still firm, but her face looked a bit red. She walked into the bathroom near the entry and shut the door.

The loud laughter that followed for five minutes straight inside those bathroom walls, easily heard by everyone at the table, all brought knowing smiles to their faces.

Allura was cool people after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like please imagine [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F4lSjIl96Sc) playing as the couch goes flying into Zarkon’s yard.
> 
> Omg guys this is going to be over on Tuesday?? I'm posting the epilogue with the last chapter, since it'll just flow better that way. As for the prequel with Shiro and Keith, that might take awhile longer. I have the bits and pieces of what happens but I need to do tons more research on PTSD and phantom limbs, and then I gotta write all the shit down. To be totally transparent it won't read like this piece, I'll probably be experimenting with a more Hemingway style to set the right tone, because y'all, these boys were MESSED UP before all this. Now they're like fucking angels comparatively.
> 
> Anyway, as always thank you for the awesome comments and love shared for the story! ALSO IN THE WORKS: Long story short, bingbong21 is writing a fic involving blueberry muffin porn in order to fulfill a blood oath debt incurred since Lance yelled at Keith for the confession. When they post it [no pressure dude I'm just so thrilled someone is writing a fic for me] I will post the link and Y'ALL SHOULD READ IT.
> 
> TIL THE MORROW ME LOVES.


	19. The Last Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The One Where Keith Lets Go

“Oh my god I can’t believe we’re doing this just days after—” Hunk stopped abruptly and Keith heard a grunt and a wheeze. Lance had shoved his elbow into his side and was yanking his head in Shiro’s direction knowingly. Shiro still hadn’t found out about the flaming shitfest that was the whole Couch Situation.

Keith fiddled with the lock some more, turning the nail he’d altered so it’d break free. Any second now. Lance was at his back and breathing in his ear, but for some reason it wasn’t nearly as annoying as it used to be.

“You know this isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I suggested a wholesome group outing,” Allura said and Keith could see her in his mind’s eye, behind him and probably tapping her foot disapprovingly on the cement. Killjoy.

“Aw come on princess,” Lance whispered. “Lighten up and enjoy the moment. Carpet diem and all that.”

“It’s carpe diem you idiot,” Pidge grumbled. “Keith are you done yet? I need to pee.”

“Overshare much?” Lance grumbled, and Keith just concentrated on the lock. One last trigger and it’d be— “Free.” Keith grabbed the lock and pulled, twisting and releasing it from around the chain. He and Lance peeled the chain away from the fence and opened the doors.

“Yes!” Lance cried, taking Keith’s hand and pulling him into the lot. “I’m so going to kick your ass at this!”

Keith grinned. “You wanna bet on that?” Lance just pulled him along faster, letting go when they’d reached the arena.

“All right Hunk, do your thing,” Lance said. “I call the blue one!”

Pidge and Hunk went over to the control booth, and Hunk began opening up the compartments and messing with the wires.

“Okay I’m just saying though,” Hunk said, ripping a few wires and melding them together. “That this is really irresponsible and if we get caught this could go on my record and like, I don’t know about you guys, but my grades aren’t so hot so like—”

“Hunk,” Lance said, turning the cart’s wheel in his hand, making fake honking gestures. “Relax, we’d never get caught. Keith and I have done this so many times the security guard actually gets sad when he doesn’t see us regularly.”

Hunk blinked. “Are you serious?”

Keith shrugged. “Carl’s a cool guy. We usually bring him pizza and he looks the other way.”

“Huh,” Hunk said, tapping a few more wires together, and the arena came to life.

Keith blinked when the overhead lights came on, flashing bright primary colors and circling the place like a disco ball. Lance’s bumper cart whirled to life and he cried out with glee, spinning in circles. Pidge jumped into a green cart and Shiro led Allura to a white one. Shiro sat in the black one beside her, barely managing to get his long legs into the thing.

“So everyone knows the rules right?” Shiro asked, testing out his cart.

“No rules!” Pidge squealed with glee, ramming into him forcefully.

Shiro laughed and Keith jumped over Lance, beelining for the red bumper cart. He hopped inside and immediately he and Lance began knocking into each other in pursuit of—well, nothing really. Keith growled when Lance hit him repeatedly, and returned the knocks right back, a time-honored tradition of theirs.

He swerved left and knocked into Hunk who had carefully chosen the largest cart, a bright yellow one that looked a little beat down.

Hunk laughed and _pummeled_ his cart right back into Keith, knocking him back into Pidge, who knocked into Allura, who _laughed_ and spun in a few circles before driving towards Hunk.

Everyone turned on Hunk then, pinning him into a corner and bumping him until he was a puddle of giggles and laughter. “Guys stop I’m dead, I’m dead—I’m done—” he said between laughs. The group let off him and Hunk’s eyes gleamed and Keith knew what was coming before Lance did. Hunk surged forward, charging Lance—who screamed a little too high to be fake—and sent his cart halfway across the floor.

“Betrayed!” Lance screamed, slamming his foot pedal. His cart puttered a little bit and when he attempted to crash into Hunk, Shiro came up behind him and bumped his cart right into Pidge.

Keith circled them all, bumping and flying away, like a quick game of tag. Meanwhile, the rest of them were flying wild, bumping and jerking and laughing in excess joy.

It was their last ride, though no one was willing to say it out loud. But even though Keith tried to avoid it, it tinged everything with a bit of sorrow, a tug of stupid goddamn preemptive nostalgia.

They had less than a month to leave the house, and Shiro still hadn’t found anything permanent. He’d made some kind of arrangement with the Holts, so Keith would stay with them awhile, but Keith wouldn’t stay if Shiro didn’t. He hadn’t been fooling around when he’d made his self-determined promise to go where Shiro did.

Keith didn’t take promises lightly. Shiro wasn’t going anywhere without Keith’s say-so.

“Keith, to your left!” Lance shouted and Keith whipped his head to see Allura charging him with a determined grin, leaning forward in pursuit of her prey. Keith swerved but it wasn’t enough to totally get out of her aim. Allura skidded past but bumped the back of his cart. It sent him careening toward Lance, bumping him back and forth between the front of Keith’s cart and the back of the arena.

Lance doubled over in laughter, gasping for breath. “Keith what the fuck,” he said. “What the fuck.”

Keith laughed and pushed his cart forward, pinning Lance between himself and the wall. Lance’s hands were weak from laughter and he could barely move his wheel, simply getting pushed wherever Keith wanted to lead him. Keith pushed him around, bumping him into everyone, from Hunk to Pidge to Shiro.

Shiro crashed into Lance on the other side and they participated in a brutal opposite tug of war, squeezing Lance between them.

Things with Lance were still _new_. Keith found himself doing the exact same things with him, but something had definitely changed. He kind of dreaded it, when the butterflies jiggled around in his chest and stomach, when Lance did something he’d done a hundred times, like just fucking laugh, or call him a dipshit. Everything just carried a different weight to it now though, and it was something he was slowly adjusting to.

“Dogpile!” Hunk shouted and joined in the fray, pinning Lance in while Lance struggled to get out, tears coming to his eyes from laughing so hard.

He worked with Hunk to push Lance into Shiro, who was slowly getting pushed back by the weight of the two turned against him.

Hunk gave a full belly laugh. “Nice try Shiro,” he shouted. “But Keith and I aren’t going down today!”

“Oh just you wait!” called back Shiro, doubling back with renewed vigor to push back.

Hunk’s jubilant energy, when applied to the right cause, was a boon for Keith. Without him, he thought maybe he wouldn’t have actually gotten this far with Lance. It might be a stretch, but adding Hunk to the group spurred him into a kind of action, shifted the dynamic enough that Keith didn’t have to just be Lance’s only best friend anymore. Hunk let Keith loosen the strings between him and Lance. He gave them each the space they needed to be around each other and not like, murder each other?

In a weird way, Hunk was the buffer they both needed to come closer together.

Pidge squealed when Allura slammed into her. She spun around and laughed, then backed up right into Shiro.

“Come on, Pidge I need leverage!” Shiro directed. “Let’s get Lance out of this mess!”

“You got it!” she called back and somehow squirmed her way inside the pile. “Lance, grab my hand!” she yelled.

Lance reached out and clasped her small hand. She pulled him and his bumper cart out and they both went flying toward the other side, laughing and spinning and jolting each other with congratulatory bumps.

Pidge seemed to be doing okay, Keith noticed, after taking the news of Shiro leaving pretty hard. She and Shiro had a relationship not totally dissimilar to his own with Shiro, and she held it equally as reserved as he did.

He wasn’t always attuned to her, and really they didn’t always see eye to eye on a lot of things. But Pidge was his sister, if he ever had one. She kind of just. Cared. Like not in an obvious way, and there were so many times Keith questioned whether she even liked him, but she cared about him. She wanted his happiness, and Keith couldn’t help but return her loyalty.

Loyalty, that’s what the word was.

While Pidge and Lance attacked Hunk, Keith watched as Allura and Shiro drove their carts to the other side of the arena. Allura pulled Shiro from his cart, legs a gangling mess, and they went off to another part of the park, to a secluded area probably.

Keith wasn’t really sure about Allura yet. She’d gotten them out of a fix, and she really cared about Shiro it seemed, but he didn’t really know what she’d bring quite yet. She held her cards close to her chest—which Keith got, he really did—but he wondered to himself sometimes, if she’d ever really trust them enough to let them in on the draw.

Keith watched them go with a curious eye, and then nearly got whiplash when Hunk slammed his car into him. Keith retaliated and surged forward, suicide diving between Hunk and Lance and taking them both out while shotgunning into Pidge. He ended up being tossed around from person to person for a while, bumping into every car and finally getting peace when Hunk and Pidge decided to team up against Lance instead.

By the end of the hour, the gang was sore enough to shut down the bumper carts and call it a night. They found Allura and Shiro by the edge of the park, dancing under the moonlight. It was romantic as shit and the group, Keith included, cat-called them the whole ride home. Shiro brightened into an embarrassed cherry red, but Allura seemed to have no problem shooting right back at Lance when she saw him discreetly grab Keith’s hand while in the car.

They got back home and everyone parted ways. Pidge hugged Hunk and Lance before going inside to go to bed, and Allura waved them all goodbye before parting to her own house.

They dispersed, and it left Keith on his own, thinking. Huh.

He headed up to the roof, and looked up at the world around him. His gut wrenched with a kind of ache, something that asked him, is this it?

He heard scraping and crawling on the other side of the roof, and Keith turned his glance to see who was coming over the ridge. He was ready to give Lance a knowing smirk when his face popped over the edge. But his face turned to a more casual smile when he saw Shiro struggling over the edge, grasping tightly with his left hand and trying to maneuver himself slightly with his right prosthetic.

Keith got up and gave him a hand, and Shiro smiled gratefully in return. He knew part of Shiro still hated that he needed the help in the first place, but Keith also knew he’d never refuse an offer for help from him. He and Keith had an understanding: if you need someone to get you out of a ditch, you call the guy who’s been down there before. In their case, it was each other.

Shiro sighed as he adjusted himself to lay on the roof, beside Keith. “How do you kids do this?” Shiro complained, scooching his butt up from to keep from falling. “Dude, this thing is fucking steep.”

“Nah,” Keith said, laying down too. “You’re just huge and gravity is trying to tug you back down, where you belong.”

Shiro laughed, mimicking Keith’s position and placing a hand behind his head and another by his side.

“So,” Shiro said. He turned his head to look at Keith, then returned his gaze to the sky.

“So,” Keith said. Shiro was clearly there for a reason, so he waited until the moment came when Shiro made his declaration.

Everything was quiet. It was the middle of the night, and Hunk and Lance flicked off the lights an hour ago, probably in bed by now. Pidge fell asleep nearly the moment they got home, lights out and snoring by the time Keith took out his toothbrush.

So now it was just him and Shiro, awake and waiting.

“I really tried here,” Shiro said, and it was so low it was nearly a whisper. Keith’s heart felt a little funny. Weirdly, it felt like it was sighing in relief. “I tried to apply for a loan, but,” he let out a breath, sounding put out and annoyed. “But I’ve never had a credit card. So without any line of credit, they won’t loan me the money to—” He clenched his fist and his prosthetic made a small whirring noise.

Keith stared out at the stars, waiting for Shiro to finish.

“I wanted to buy the house. So we could stay here. But buddy, I think it’s not meant to be. I swear I’ve tried everything, I went to three different banks, but I just. I can’t come up with the money.” Shiro leaned his head to the side, facing away.

Keith looked at the back of his head. There was a scar that traced down his neck to his back, and Shiro had told him about that one. He’d never noticed how deep it was though, and now that Keith thought about it, he cringed. He had his own scars from foster homes, but those people hadn’t been his actual parents.

“But things will be okay,” Shiro was using his low voice, his concerned one. Keith remembered it well, the one he’d given him about a week after he’d first moved in, the one Keith saw and thought he’d never seen before, and would never see again.

It brought that familiar ache back. He and Shiro always had a certain—fuck, Keith hated saying it but it was true—they had a connection, a familial bond. And the look Shiro was giving him right now was the one that told him he was _concerned_ about him.

“It’s okay,” Keith said. Shiro turned back to look at him. “You know, it really didn’t hit me until tonight, but. I kind of realized something.”

Keith tilted his head to look at Shiro, and a small grin spread across his own face. “We’re not alone anymore.”

Shiro looked at him thoughtfully, strangely. It was clear he hadn’t been expecting Keith to be okay with this, with them going separate ways. And true, not only a few hours ago Keith had planned on digging his claws in and following Shiro to Alaska if need be, but that wasn’t the case after tonight.

“After I saw you and Allura dancing tonight—gross by the way—” Shiro scoffed and Keith let the grin spread a little farther, “I just, like I got it. You have someone. I have Lance. I guess I always did but, now it’s finally something I can depend on.”

Keith brought his hand up to his face, watching the shadows shift as he turned it in the moonlight. He clenched it, but it didn’t hurt, not like he used to make it hurt. Instead, he just felt powerful.

“We have people now, that we can call and who’ll come. We don’t just need each other anymore. We have Hunk and Pidge too, and even Coran. We’re a team, and we can all count on each other. It just.”

He looked at Shiro and now there was a new expression on his face, one Keith didn’t recognize right away.

“It all comes together. That we’re a family, and we can, I don’t know.” Keith watched the stars, and he sighed. “Move forward. In any direction I guess,” Keith dropped his fist to his chest. “And we’ll still be alright.”

Beside him, Shiro was quiet. Keith felt a nudge at his shoulder and when he looked at Shiro again, he recognized the face he was giving him. Pride.

“You’re not the kid who first turned up on my doorstep, you know? You’ve grown up so much.”

“Yeah,” Keith said. “I know.”

Then Keith swung his fist to the side, landing it square into Shiro’s solar plexus.

Shiro spluttered and gasped, clutching the spot like a dying man. “What the fuck you asshole!” he shouted, but it just sounded like a giant wheeze and Keith had to laugh. “We’re having a fucking moment here and you had to fucking murder me.”

“That’s what you get,” Keith said.

“For what?”

Keith shrugged. “Just cuz.”

Shiro laughed and punched his shoulder, _hard_.

They talked a little more, laughed a little more. They each teased each other about old times, new times, the time Shiro got his hand stuck in the washer and had to wait five hours for Keith to come home and eventually pry it out with a screwdriver and oven mitts. They’d both been so cranky and exhausted after that they didn’t talk to each other for a full day.

Shiro laughed and then cringed in pain, having been on his back too long on the hard tiles. “Good god, I am done here. I am never coming up here again, this is bullshit and you guys are crazy,” he muttered, and attempted to get off the roof. Keith ended up going down first, then spotted Shiro for him as he made his way down testily, grumbling like a grandpa the whole time.

Keith watched him walk into the house. He put his hands in his pockets and was about to follow, when Keith got a thought in the back of his mind, and it felt like candy stuck on the back of his teeth.

They were a team, this whole block of theirs. All of them had each other’s backs, and they were stronger for it. They could all do more together, be more. Each one of them had a different skill they brought to the plate.

Shiro led, Allura directed. Hunk had the knowledge; Pidge was the manpower; Lance made the plans.

And Keith? He was the ignition.

Keith waited until Shiro went to bed and then went over to Hunk’s house. He walked through the open door—Hunk never locked it at night, he was way too trusting for his own damn good—and walked up to Lance’s room.

He shook him awake and removed the eye mask from his face. Lance spluttered and groaned. “The fuck? I’ll kill you?” he groaned, sniffing and blinking awake.

“Hey,” Keith said. “Wake up. I got an idea how we can keep the house.”

Lance blinked at him and Keith smiled. Somehow, once he’d accepted everything as it was, it’d opened the door for an opportunity. Or a window? Fucking, whatever.

They’d need the whole squad for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter theme](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aXJhDltzYVQ)


	20. A Big Sigh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The One Where An End Marks A Beginning

Shiro took a sip of his coffee and gazed at the boxes scattered around the house. He still had no fucking clue where he was going to go in a week when they were forced out, but he’d confirmed with the Holts that Keith was more than welcome to stay, until Shiro found something more permanent for him. Them? Shiro didn’t know anymore.

Worst case scenario Shiro would go down south, move back in with his psycho mom. But truly, Shiro was planning on living in his car before that happened. He didn’t know how or why Ryou managed to live there. But, Shiro figured, as long as Ryou stuck to his weed and continued to ignore mom’s meth, things could probably continue that for awhile. 

Shiro picked up a shirt with his toe and dropped it into a box. He’d tried the careful method, stacking and packing things with care, but now. He didn’t give a damn fuck. Probably he’d have to sell half this shit anyway.

His eyes traveled from the old couch he’d found at a junkyard, to the several mismatched pieces of furniture he’d been given by friends, coworkers, and he swallowed a sigh.

Just things. Things didn’t matter.

“Shiro?” Keith walked in the door, letting the screen fall on his back as he stayed under the door jam. Shiro smiled at him, but it was a weak one. Keith still wasn’t on board with any of this and would go from mild mannered to crabby to in a rage in a second. It’d taken two long years for Shiro to earn Keith’s respect—all gone practically in a heartbeat over all this—but he’d do his part to make sure Keith knew he was always there for him. In one way or another, there or from afar, Shiro had no intention of really leaving Keith high and dry.

But some things in life, Shiro thought, finally letting go of the sigh that demanded its freedom, he just couldn’t control.

He looked down at his arm quickly and thought about Mrs. Reyes. Nope. Some things.

“You got a second? Coran wants some help moving a couch or something and Lance stubbed his toe so he’s out of commission.” Keith looked a little nervous but Shiro shrugged it off as Keith avoiding him.

“Sure buddy,” he said. He dropped his coffee off on the table and followed Keith to Coran’s house. Shiro tried not to look at his new lawn wistfully. It was really growing now, thanks to Hunk’s and Pidge’s efforts. Pidge, who’d been staunchly against anything dealing with sunlight, had become taken with the yard once Hunk showed her how to nurture the plants. She said it wasn’t too unlike her own science experiments. Scientific method on plants, Shiro chuckled. Sure Pidge, whatever works for you.

When he walked into Coran’s house something was immediately off. First, the couch was perfectly planted in front of his large TV. Shiro took a moment to admire the TV. Now that was something definitely from this decade, he thought as he admired the glossy screen. Pidge was sitting beside it on the floor, cross legged and glasses reflecting light so he couldn’t see her eyes.

“Just another second,” she mumbled, clicking at her computer. Wires connected the laptop to the TV and Lance and Hunk were hovering around her, trying to speed things up through pressure.

“We’re here,” Keith said, tapping his fingers on the back of the leather couch and speaking through clenched teeth.

“Shit, almost there—done!” Pidge said, placing the laptop to the side and smiling proudly. Lance and Hunk were each nearly spitting with excitement as they came over to grab Shiro and throw him on the couch. 

Shiro blinked and blanched. “Um, guys? What’s going on?”

“Hold on we’re almost ready,” Lance said, twitching nervously. “Allura! Coran! Get in here!”

Shiro smiled sheepishly when Allura came out, cheeks pink and holding a box about the size of a briefcase. She sat next to him and everyone started wolf whistling when she leaned in and gave him a chaste kiss on the mouth. “Don’t open it yet,” she said and placed in on his lap.

Coran walked in with a giant bowl of popcorn and sat next to Shiro on his other side. Shiro looked at him, curious, and Coran held the popcorn away from him. “Oh no you don’t,” he said. “This here thing is mine.” He slapped Hunk’s hand away when Hunk tried to reach in, and Hunk slumped to the ground in a mopey heap.

“I should’ve thought to bring snacks,” he said morosely.

“Snacks for what?” Shiro asked, curiosity now scratching at him like a cat at a tree. “What’s going on?”

“Hush,” Allura said, tapping his arm. “Pidge, hit it.”

“You got it princess,” she said, and pressed the spacebar on the laptop. Everyone gathered around Shiro, Lance and Keith behind him leaning on the back of the couch, Hunk scooting forward on his butt more toward Shiro, and Pidge moving to place herself between his knees on the floor.

Everyone was fixed on the TV.

“Hi,” Allura said from the TV. It was clear it was homemade probably from her phone, taken in her house. “My name is Allura, and I wanted to share with you why you should donate for our cause, to keep Shiro in his home.”

Shiro swallowed dry. Allura squeezed his arm.

“I’ve only known him for… a month now I think?” She laughed. “But that’s been plenty of time to get to know the man he is, and to know that Shiro is the kind of person who gives himself wholehearted to a person, to a cause, to something he believes in. Even if that person doesn’t believe in theirself. I have a few friends who are going to help me show you that.”

Coran’s face popped up on the screen, moustache tilted into a smile. “Hello all! I’ll keep this short because you have many stories to hear, but let me tell you this. I’ve been a teacher for over twenty years, and in all that time, I can tell you I’ve never met someone quite as generous and special as Shiro. He’s a good lad, and he’s always been there for everyone, whether they something to give him in return or not. I think rather, it’s his default state to just do kindness to others. And with that, I’ll let you hear Pidge’s story.”

The background switched and now Shiro smiled as he saw Pidge gazing at the screen, hazel eyes blinking as she adjusted the camera. A more professional one it looked like. She was sitting in her room on the bed.

“I’m Pidge,” she said, looking a little reserved. “I’m in Shiro’s house right now, this is the guest room. He. He lets me stay here, because there was this really awesome science program I got into but my parents are like, overseas doing awesome work for the environment, and my brother is also overseas but on deployment, doing his part to represent the best of us over here in the US of A,” she laughed awkwardly. “Uh, right.”

She cleared her throat and pushed up her glasses. “The thing is, Shiro doesn’t just let me stay here. He pays for all of my food, drives me to class every day, and actually cares about what I’m learning about. He. He asks questions, and he even tries to help me with my homework,” she grinned, a private one to herself. “And even when his help doesn’t get me very far, he laughs at his own mistakes and tells me it’s okay, I can learn from those too.”

She looked to the camera and there was a fierceness to her gaze now, something Shiro recognized intimately. She gave him that look the first time he looked at his new arm and cringed. She’d smacked him for that and told him it was as awesome as the rest of him.

“The thing is, Shiro isn’t just a guardian, or an awesome dude, he’s the  _ best _ dude. He took me in without a question, a backwards glance or even a complaint. Without him, the neighborhood would change, and disintegrate. He brings all of us together. He’s our leader, our inspiration. Donate what you can, please, and keep him in our lives. I honestly,” Shiro reached down and gripped Pidge’s shoulder then, because on the screen she wiped her tears away furiously. “I honestly don’t know where I’d be.”

The scene switched. It was Matt. “Hey buddy!” he said on the screen. “Bet you had no fu—freaking clue they’d do this. Dude, we got some good people on our side, amiright? Anyway. To my public audience,” Matt grinned and tapped the screen. “You don’t know Shiro. But I do. He saved my life without knowing me. And then he got to know me, and saw how awesome I was, and to this day, I still can’t express how awesome  _ he _ is. He lost his arm for me, takes care of my sister for me, and just, has my back. Day and night. He’s gone through the worst things imaginable, but he still has a heart of fu—you know which word I wanna say,” he laughed. “Of  _ gold _ . There is no one I’ve met that has stunned and astonished me more with his bravery. Shiro is the man we all want in our lives. So I’m, guys, I’m  _ begging _ you, don’t let him leave his home. Because it’s his, and he earned it, and we won’t let him go, not without a fight. We brought him home without an arm, now let’s  _ keep _ him home. I’ll let Lance tell it from here. Later days!”

Lance’s big blue eyes took up the whole camera. “That’s me!” he whispered loudly from behind, and Shiro smiled, laughed, and he noticed the sound was a little phlegmy. Allura leaned her head on his shoulder and he leaned his on her head.

“Hey! The name’s Lance, and I’m going to tell you two things,” he said, confidently gazing into the screen now that his whole face was in view. “One, how awesomely brave I am, and two how Shiro is the best person on this planet, and no one can argue with me on it.”

Lance took a deep breath and let it out. “So I’m gay. I came out to my parents a few months ago, and uh. They didn’t like that. They. They kicked me out. It. Still really sucks. I miss them every day, and someday, I hope they’ll accept this part of me.”

Lance’s eyes sparkled and he grabbed his chest. “But Shiro let me stay with him. And Keith, Keith just, called him and said, “Hey, we’re at the Circle K, pick us up Lance needs a place to stay.’ And he did.

“He didn’t make me pay rent. He didn’t make me do anything at all to feel like I didn’t belong. He picked me up one time after a really bad night, and he cleaned me up, picked me off the floor, and brought me. Home. Here.” Shiro realized he was in Keith’s room, sitting on the day bed Mrs. Reyes had given them. 

“Shiro treated me like a brother, like a son, like. I don’t know. The way everyone wants to be treated when they feel like they’re worth nothing, because for awhile, I really thought that. If my own family couldn’t care for me, who would? Who would want me?”

Lance laughed on screen and it sounded wet. “Shiro did. And Keith did. And Pidge did. And then I met Hunk, and Matt and Allura, and they did. See, this isn’t just Shiro’s home. It’s mine now. And it’s all of ours. If you take it away, if you  _ let _ them take it away, we’re all going to be lost. Please donate, anything,  _ anything _ , so that Shiro knows that we’re in this together, and that we always will be.” Lance sniffed loudly and then aimed finger guns at the camera. “Hunk, take it away!”

Hunk’s cheeks gleamed in the camera. It looked like he’d already been crying and Shiro looked down at Hunk now, startled to see Hunk beside him was staring at him. Hunk patted his knee and turned back to the TV.

“Hey,” Hunk on the screen said. “I’m Hunk, and a couple weeks ago, my grandmother passed away.”

Hunk on screen took a deep, shaky breath, and continued. “She wasn’t like, the nicest person. She was actually kind of cross, and she chewed tobacco and spit in the bushes, which is kind of gross, but she was my Gram-gram. She raised me, cleaned my feet when I was a kid and refused to wear shoes, she taught me how to read, she always treated me like an equal in a way. And I think, I think that’s why she trusted Shiro, because he was like that too.

“My Gram-gram had serious trust issues with...people of certain races. When she was a little girl, she was...attacked, by Japanese soldier. She was a, what they called, a ‘Comfort Woman.’” Hunk scratched his hair nervously, shaking his head. “Just look it up. So she didn’t like Japanese, on principal. I’m sorry to say.

“But she liked Shiro. She saw how much Shiro cared for Keith, how he took him in awhile back. How the yelling stopped after a while, and Keith didn’t fly out of the house anymore. She saw the transformation, and she was curious about it. Up until a few months ago, she was still suspicious, but then she met Shiro, and you know what she said to me?”

Hunk smiled into the camera and laughed a little. “She said, ‘I hope I see more young ones like that around here.’ One of the  _ last  _ things she said to me, before...She was happy when I started going over there, and she always like hearing stories of what we did. Just. Hanging out. Talking. About everything. Me being over there made her feel like I was exploring the world a little more, and she lived vicariously through me.

“Like I said, she died about a month ago. And Shiro let me stay at his place for awhile. He let me take over his kitchen, and didn’t think twice about it. Whenever I needed something, he was there. He even would hang out below the house at night when I went up to the roof to think, and he would smoke a cigarette and make sure I was okay, even though he didn’t know I knew that. That he was out there, watching out for me.

“If Shiro leaves. I’ll be devastated. The neighborhood would be. Please donate what you can, so we can continue to have his strength in our lives. God bless you all, for anyone watching this, and now you get to have a part of Shiro in your life too. All right Keith, your turn.”

The camera flicked out, and Shiro held his breath when he saw Keith on the screen. He didn’t dare turn around now, but he could feel Keith behind him, like he could feel his arms and feet and nose.

Keith sat on the couch. The ugly orange one. He tapped his fist against his thigh, not hard, but not lightly. 

“I’m Keith. I’m Shiro’s first sob story.” Keith said. He didn’t look at the camera. 

“When Shiro found me. I was a wreck.” He spoke quietly, and there was a hush in the room, more than before. Everyone was straining their ears to hear Keith and his story, because out of all of them, it was the one that meant the most. “My parents died. I was young. I went,” Keith sighed, and Shiro could tell he hated this, letting everything out like this. But it touched him, that he’d do this for Shiro.

“I’ve been in and out of foster homes since I was eight. Most of them were crappy. Beyond crappy. No words to describe them really. One time I got sent out to the desert—” he laughed, but there was no humor to it. “I don’t want to talk about that. I pulled a crazy stunt to get away, Youtube it. Look it up: ‘Kid takes 580 to coastline in 40 minutes.’ I think I almost died like, twelve times on that ride.

“The first week Shiro had me, I fucking attacked him. Almost every night. I hurled his arm, his prosthetic one, into another neighbor’s fucking yard. You know what he did? He fucking laughed, then jumped the fence and got it back. 

“He never got physically angry. He’d get annoyed, and he’d get pissed when I left without telling him where I was going. And. It took awhile to realize it was because he cared about me. Not like, me as a human. But me as Keith. As the f—messed up kid who was in front of him, screaming at him for even trying to help me.

“I can’t say anymore,” and in truth, Keith looked wrecked on the screen. It looked like he was slowly unraveling, like time was pulling at him and tearing him apart. “But I just want people to know one thing.”

He slammed his fist into his thigh and looked straight at the camera. “No matter who tries to tear him down, take him away, or pull the fight from him, it won’t happen. Shiro is a fighter, and a friend, and the best man I’ve ever known in my shitty, shitty life.” He looked off screen for a moment. “Can I say shitty? Fuck it.” He stared back at the camera and his eyes were on fire. “Shiro is my friend, and my guardian, but I’m his too. To Galra Enterprises—take him away from me and you will regret it. Because either way, I’m not going to rest until he gets what he deserves, which is more than you could ever know.

“Shiro—” he said to the camera. “Whatever happens. You’re my brother. And I’m not going to stop until you’ve got a home. Because you gave me one,” Keith broke down a little then, and hid his face. Lance rushed onto the screen, gave him a squeeze and backed off again. “You gave me a home and I can never repay that. I never said it but.”

Keith’s eyes diverted from Lance off screen, to a few more other invisible people. Shiro could imagine it then, him looking around the room to his neighbors, his friends, his team. He looked at the camera and smiled. 

“Thank you.”

The video cut out.

Shiro blinked when the lights were thrown on and Pidge went back to the laptop, clicking and showing another screen on the TV. Shiro squinted at the image, what looked like a small temperature gage colored green.

He felt his soul plummet through the floor when he saw the number on the end of it. He opened his mouth but no words came out. He just. Pointed.

“We only asked for five thousand,” Allura said softly. “We got a little more than that.”

Pidge grinned. “Yeah, a full down payment. Plus what Hunk made from selling Gram-gram’s old furniture, which his parents fully supported for the cause.”

“I also contributed my tip money!” Lance threw in from behind.

“And Keith—” Hunk started but Pidge covered his mouth. Hunk’s brown eyes blinked and when she let go he looked a little sheepish. 

Shiro stook on shaky legs and turned to Keith. Keith bit his lip painfully hard and had his arms crossed over his chest.  

“I sold my bike,” he said quietly. “For way more than she was worth, so it was a good deal.” Shiro dropped his face in his hands. He  _ knew _ how much heart and soul Keith had put into that bike. Part of him was so ashamed, that Keith should give something up so precious to him, all because he couldn’t come up with a loan for a down payment on his own.

“It’s fine,” Keith said dismissively, “I can make another. Get spare parts from your work and make a better one, especially since this time I’ll know what the fuck I’m do—”

Shiro threw his arms around him and keith froze for just a second before throwing his own around Shiro and squeezing the breath from him. Shiro began to laugh and Keith did too, the two just stood there, limbs growing weak as they crushed each other and breath flew out of them like a falling balloon.

“So,” Shiro said. “You did this? For me?”

Keith rolled his eyes. “I mean, it’s my home too. I didn’t wanna fucking move out and shit. You know I hate packing. Besides,” he said. “I shoved a knife in the outlet and I can’t get it out, but like, I don’t want to give it up either.”

“Fuck that was  _ you _ who shorted out the electric grid last year?” Shiro said, flicking Keith’s ear.

“Holy shit, did you die?” asked Lance.

“Does it fucking look like I died?” Keith said, letting go of Shiro to glare at Lance, who returned it full force. Then they were making out again.  _ Tenderly _ . Shiro rolled his eyes and Hunk cringed.

“Oh gross,” he said.

“You get used to it,” said Pidge, throwing some popcorn into her mouth.

“Ahem,” Allura said, clearing her throat. “I think you forgot this?” She held up the box and Shiro took it hesitantly, opening it to reveal several sets of paperwork. It was the house deed, an application for a down payment, and even a letter of recommendation for him from his boss, assuring the bank he wouldn’t fire Shiro and leave him out of a job.

Shiro felt weak again. He grabbed onto Allura, cupping her face in his hands. “Thank you,” he whispered, and kissed her. She clenched her fingers into his shirt and pulled, returning the kiss with vigor, but with a gentle softness all her own. He released her and her smiling face, still dusted with pink, a natural blush, made his heart do a little jig.

Or maybe he was having a heart attack. At this point, he didn’t really care.

“So,” he said, smiling to his family. “What’s the plan?”

“Unpacking and pizza?” Lance suggested, working his way toward Shiro and giving him a hug as well. Shiro threw an arm over him and laughed when Pidge nudged her way closer too.

“And can we watch Twilight Zone too? There’s a marathon on the SciFi channel!” she said, hopping on her toes and pressing a small kiss to Shiro’s cheek.

“Oh my god, I can make the pizza with that new goat cheese Keith and I found at the farmers’ market, you guys are gonna die,” Hunk said, opening the door for everyone to follow.

“I’ll bring the popcorn!” said Coran.

“I’ll bring the coconut juice!” said Lance.

As they all walked over together in a huddle group, surrounding Shiro, Shiro took another glimpse at the neighborhood. No house looked the same. They were forever playing a musical chairs kind of arrangement when it came to who lived where, and Shiro didn’t think that would change as time went on.

But it wasn’t the houses that mattered to him. It was the people who surrounded him, the ones who kept him afloat and inspired and—shit. Loved. He felt loved by these people.

And he’d return the favor. Every day, every moment, every second, he’d return the favor.

And he was happy to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KEXQkrllGbA) is the theme of the whole damn series. Listen to those perfect lyrics. Damn Bill. Get me every time. :"]


	21. Okay—Now fast forward a little

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The One Where Questions Are Answered (and Porn Happens)

Lance fidgeted with the sign again, causing Pidge to slap his hand in annoyance.

“Lance get your shit together,” she said, rolling her eyes while he grappled with his end.

“I’m just fixing this corner _Katie_ ,” he said, “because someone did a shit job rolling it up and got a ton of wrinkles in it.” She responded by sticking her tongue out at him.

“Guys chill,” Shiro said, standing beside Lance with his arm linked through Allura’s. “Do you want Keith to see you guys bickering like Coran’s nieces and nephews?”

“Ugh, the mice,” Pidge groaned. “Kids are the worst.”

“You’re just pissed at them because they stole your rover,” Lance said.

“And busted it. It took me months to build and now it’s a pot for hyacinths.”

“I thought you liked the hyacinths?” Hunk asked, looking from Lance to Pidge with concern.

Pidge turned her head and opened her mouth, probably to assure Hunk the hyacinths were just fine, really, but an advanced piece of robotics acting as a planter wasn’t her main objective, when she saw Keith out of the corner of her eye, behind them all.

Keith put a finger to his lips, miming secrecy as he stepped quietly behind Lance. He widened out his arms, ready to reach out and grab Lance from behind when Lance moved unexpectedly.

He threw back his head in impatience, at Pidge, at Hunk, probably everyone in the airport, and ended up catching Keith’s forehead with the crown of his head.

“God-fucking-dammit,” Keith shouted from behind, clutching his forehead while Lance whined and rubbed at his hair.

“Who the fuck— _Keith!_ ” he shouted, wrapping his arms around his bruised boyfriend. “Babe, that’s exactly what you get for trying to sneak up on me but also I missed you how are you how was your flight do you still love me and are tacos okay for dinner we’re going to stop at Vallarta before we go home.”

Keith groaned, still holding his forehead, and leaned into Lance’s shoulder as he hugged him. Despite contrary beliefs, he liked that Lance was taller than him now, since it allowed him to rest his head at a perfect angle so his neck wasn’t strained.

“Uh, in pain…Long…I hate you. Sure,” Keith responded. Lance rocked him back and forth and Keith swayed with the motion. He reached out to grip arms with Shiro in greeting and give Pidge and Hunk high-fives while Lance held him.

“Missed you buddy,” Shiro said.

“Some more than others,” Allura added. Keith nodded to her, shifting Lance so he could look at her from the side instead of from behind.

“So what piece of sand did Shiro get you?” he asked. Allura grinned with a slight dimple in her right cheek as she held her left hand forward for him to see. Lance hummed in his ear while Keith took her hand in his and brought it closer for inspection.

“Smaller than I fucking thought,” Keith said.

Shiro laughed but Allura took her hand back petulantly. “It’s shiny and I like it.” She turned to Shiro and gave him a slow, full kiss on the mouth. “I like you too.”

“Ditto, darling,” Shiro responded and Pidge mimed barfing.

“Can it Pidge,” Hunk said, still holding up the poster while everyone else had abandoned it. Keith strained his neck and saw only the words, “asshole,” “returns” and “pancakes.”

Hunk elbowed Keith in the side, grinning knowingly. “Ever since she finally met you-know-who she’s like _totally_ a romantic now.”

Pidge pouted but didn’t return any scathing comment.

Lance hummed agreement in Keith’s ear, nodding and adjusting his arms around Keith to be a little looser. “Yeah, their Skype sessions are seriously second-hand embarrassing. I can’t even listen to half the things she says to Lana without cringing.”

“I can’t believe you two are even fucking related,” Pidge snorted. “Your sister’s a babe, how the hell do you even have the same genes?”

“You know what puta—“ Lance said, unraveling himself from Keith to start a fight.

Keith wrapped his arms around him and hauled him back in, planting a soft kiss on his neck. He could feel Lance’s neck and face warm significantly and Lance turned back to Keith and looked at him, eyes sparkling.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

“Hi,” Keith smiled back.

Lance looked suddenly shy, perhaps inconvenienced. He darted his eyes around the crowded airport, then disconnected himself from Keith.

“Okay! Tacos, then rewatching the part of Covenant where Michael Fassbender gets his head ripped off by the alien dude over and over again and then—“

Keith watched as Lance took hold of his bag and started walking away from baggage claim, in a hurry to get to their car, somewhere private where he and Keith wouldn’t be around prying eyes.

After it all, Lance was still the little Catholic boy. And it still made Keith a lecherous kind of giddy.

He grabbed Lance’s hand away from his bag, causing it to smack against the tile loudly. Keith could feel people’s eyes around the carousel latch onto them as he brought Lance closer, turning him in his arms and dipping him, and laying a quiet and sincere press of his lips on him.

Lance was rigid in his arms for a full five seconds before he flew up and wrapped his arms around Keith, kissing him soundly. Keith could feel the smile in the kiss and when they pulled away, a few claps littered the present audience.

“Skank,” Lance breathed, blushing and laughing at the same time.

“Loser,” Keith responded.

They got twenty-seven tacos and about three rounds of horchata at the market, and Keith got caught up on what everyone had been up to in the last six months.

Pidge was still pursuing Lana, which the woman was on one hand totally flattered, and on the other freaked because, you know, the overall age gap.

Pidge shrugged and sipped her drink, keeping the straw between her teeth as she gave Keith a half-lidded look of confidence. “She won’t resist my charms much longer, I gotta feeling.”

“You get more like your brother every day,” Shiro said, and Pidge smacked him on the arm half-heartedly, to his amusement. "But in all seriousness Pidge, I hope it works out."

"Thanks," she said, sliding back into her seat, folding her arms and tilting her head contentedly. "You know, after Gram-gram died, and I had that panic attack about being alone forever, it really changed me. It helped me come out, to myself and the rest of the world, as a lesbian. Whatever happens with Lana, or anyone in the future, I can be happy knowing I can just be myself."

"Wow Pidge," said Lance as the table sat in hushed awe of her quiet, lovely revelation. "That," he continued, "was  _super_ gay."

The entire table groaned. "Shut up Lance!" Pidge yelled, leaning forward and punching him. Lance pushed her away weakly, giggling in apology.

“To be fair," Lance admitted, "she has some good moves.” Pidge quietly beamed at the compliment.

Keith gave him a questioning look and Lance explained. “She sent a drone to my parents’ house while Lana was on break, with a cake made by Hunk that had her thesis summary on it with criticisms of it written as fucking decoration.”

Pidge leaned forward with her phone, and showed the cake, a three-tiered masterpiece with scientific peer reviews written delicately in icing on the fondant top layer.

“Took forever, but Hail Mary, Pidge paid me well for that,” Hunk said. “Not to mention it earned me a sweet externship at Vrepida Saosi’s.”

“How’s that going by the way?” Keith asked, wrapping an arm around Lance as he leaned into him, clutching his stomach and bemoaning how much he’d eaten.

“Ah—” Hunk started, lifting his head and then falling forward, resting his hands on the table in a mock bow. “—Mazing. Like, I practically run the place and Saosi basically told me I have a job when I’ve completed my program. I can’t believe how lucky I’ve been to get one in the city, literally the only one dude, like _bam_.”

Hunk took a leftover taco and began demolishing it, and Keith turned his attention back to Allura and Shiro.

“So,” Keith said, segueing the conversation. “Wedding, huh? When’s that planned.”

Allura shrugged, throwing another jalapeño pepper into her mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “Nothing is set in stone yet, both of us still have so much to do. I’m just finishing up my first year as an actual licensed teacher, so my work has yet to begin.”

“Oh, tell him who’s going to walk you down the aisle!” Lance said from a nearly horizontal position. He’d been slowly sliding down Keith’s arms and was now inching his head toward his lap to rest.

Allura smiled. “I’ve asked Coran to walk me down the aisle.”

“That’s great,” Keith said, and gave a look to Lance below him, who was giving him all kinds of facial gestures that told him what he imagined happening at the wedding. Disaster, probably.

“He’s just been such a mentor to me you know, really helped me formulate all of my lesson plans and having a sympathetic ear to talk to about these classroom management issues I’ve been having is really—“

“I’ve been sympathetic,” Shiro said from the side, grabbing a chip and nibbling at it.

“Kids love you, all you do is help and listen and _you_ don’t have to assign homework. You can’t _empathize_.”

Shiro shrugged, giving Keith raised eyebrows and a ‘What’re you gonna do?’ attitude before throwing his arm over Allura’s shoulders and kissing the corner of her eyebrow. They really were grossly affectionate.

Unlike Lance, who had swiped a quarter’s worth of spit from his tongue onto his finger and was trying to shove it into Keith’s ear.

“But what about you dude,” Hunk said, leaning his cheek on a hand. “How was Argentina? Did you get tapas? Steak? Wine? Wow dude, I’m so jealous.”

Keith smiled. “Not really, no time for that. It was all training, really. Just preparing for the Mexico to Sydney run.”

“Just the way Mr. No Fun Zone likes it,” Lance chuckled from below. Keith flicked his nose.

“It was beautiful at night though,” Keith said. “Stars were fucking everywhere. They just, lit up the sky you know? It never felt like I was alone out there.”

“Aw,” Lance said, lifting himself up and poking his face close to Keith’s. “Are you like, getting philosophical about how I’m with you even though we’re miles apart because when you look at the sky you think of my beautiful face looking at those same stars thinking about how much I love you and miss you?”

Keith blinked. “Sure.”

Lance blew a raspberry at Allura. “See, my boyfriend is better than yours.”

Allura’s face held no trace of humor as she leveled him with a look. “Fiance,” she mouthed, bringing her left hand up and wiggling her fingers, letting the small diamond twinkle under the fluorescent lights. Lance rolled his eyes and she raised an eyebrow at Keith, who shrugged helplessly as Lance cuddled deeper into his arms.

They got going pretty soon after that, especially when Lance actually began falling asleep in his lap. Despite a 14-hour plane ride, Keith was still pretty alert, but laying down in his bed did sound like a good idea. Shiro told him on the ride over he’d been staying at Allura’s—had been since the engagement really—so they could “do whatever they wanted, you know, within reason.”

“The fuck you mean ‘within reason’?” Keith asked.

“Seeing as last time the neighbors across the fucking block could hear you when you came back, yeah ‘within reason.’”

Keith rolled his eyes and Lance squeezed his hand a little tighter. Keith looked down and they shared a small, knowing smile. Keith squeezed his hand right back.

 

* * *

 

Keith felt every pain in his body return to him the moment he laid down on the bed. He groaned, loudly, and Lance punched him in the arm while he brushed his teeth.

“Dude, can it,” he said. “Shiro’s going to come over and kill me again for last time.”

“Promise?” Keith grinned at Lance, eyes half-lidded from sleep.

“Oh you asshole,” Lance said, jumping on the bed and throwing his weight on Keith’s stomach. “I waited six months for this bullshit?”

The two struggled and Lance finally leaned down, taking his toothbrush out of his mouth. He gathered up spit mixed with toothpaste, threateningly pursing his lips and holding it over Keith’s face.

Gravity took control however and before Lance could suck it back into his mouth it fell and spread over Keith’s cheek.

“Fuck!” Keith shouted, bucking up involuntarily and wiping the spit from his cheek as Lance burst into laughter.

“Wait, I didn’t actually mean to!” Lance said, when Keith began to charge him. “Realmente por favor lo promete!”

Keith grabbed him by the waist and threw him on the bed, pinning him down and Lance kicked and shoved but it didn’t stop Keith from hocking his own spitball and dropping it with care onto Lance. It landed in his ear and Keith laughed when Lance screamed.

“Oh you’re so fucking nasty,“ Lance said, using the end of his robe to wipe at the spit in his ear.

Keith grinned and adjusted Lance’s legs around him. He laid down over Lance, careful not to put his full weight on him. “You had that shit coming,” he said, nuzzling Lance’s neck and sighing.

Lance had just showered and smelled _clean,_ much cleaner than anything Keith had been around in the time he’d been training for the on-season again. Days without showers and eating nothing but dried fruit and nuts got old fast, even if he did love the job. 'Job,' he scoffed, 'play' more like.

“I missed you so much,” Lance said, wrapping his arms and legs around him. “Is it always going to be like this?”

Keith wasn’t sure if he meant the chaos of his schedule, or how good it felt once they were back in each other’s arms. After three years it still made Keith feel like he was being sedated and shot with adrenaline at the same time.

Keith didn’t really answer, he just continued to kiss Lance along his neckline, moving down and paying attention to his sighs and contented noises.

“So, next week you graduate huh?” Keith said, sucking a kiss on Lance’s stomach. Keith nosed at the goosebumps over his abdomen and continued going down, adding a few bites to the mix.

Lance lifted a leg up and out of the way, sighing into the pillows.

“Do you have enough flight hours to get your license yet?”

Lance shook his head and Keith licked a portion of his hipbone. “Not quite, I should be done by this summer though, and then…”

Keith ran his teeth along the hipbone, nipping and sucking at the skin while he pulled down Lance’s boxers. He rubbed a hand through them, barely ghosting over his growing erection.

“Hmm?” Keith prodded, breathing heavily over Lance’s underwear.

“I might end up back in school,” Lance said, grabbing hold of the daybed they’d never gotten rid of. He held onto the bars and made a noise of displeasure when Keith perked up, hair a little wild from Lance’s fingertips running through it.

“And do what? You don’t want to be a pilot anymore?”

“No, no that,” Lance shook his head. “I’m thinking about piloting in space.” Lance grinned and looked down. “Then you’d really be able to look up at those stars and see me.”

Keith rested his chin in the tender area between Lance’s cock and his leg. “You never stop surprising me. That’s cool dude.”

“Yeah?” Lance said hopefully, tucking a strand of Keith’s hair behind his ear. It was longer now, and actually fit into a tiny ponytail if he had a hair tie on hand. Lance looked a little sheepish, like he hadn’t been sure of Keith’s reaction. Now that, Keith thought as he pressed his lips to Lance’s thigh, didn’t surprise him.

“I’m always proud of what you do,” he said, coming back up to press their chests together. Lance tickled the back of his neck with his long fingers, and inhaled deeply before pressing a kiss to his jaw.

“Thanks, dipshit,” Lance whispered and Keith laughed at the old endearment. People thought they were crazy when they were in public, calling each other horrible names in between holding hands and quick kisses, but it was just who they were.

Lance and Keith: the Atypical Couple.

“Speaking of dip,” Keith said while Lance ran his hands down his back and sucked a mark into his neck. “How about you dip that dick into my ass? I’ve been wanting you since the plane ride _to_ Argentina.”

“Fuck Keith,” Lance said, curling a leg around Keith’s calf. “You sure know how to convince a guy.”

Lance reached backward, fumbling his hand on the nightstand and eventually reaching inside and grabbing a large bottle of lube. He and Keith continued to mouth at each other while he opened the bottle, squeezing a load of it into Keith’s and his own palm. Lance and he worked at Lance’s dick, coating it generously, and Keith gave it a few good twists to get it completely hard, though Lance had already been more than halfway there already.

Keith sat up and guided Lance’s hand down and Lance pressed two fingers into him, curling them inside his ass and then sinking them into his hole. Keith fell forward a bit, breathing heavily into Lance’s hair and squeezing around the delicate intrusion.

Lance was attending to him slowly, working his fingers to make sure he was coating every bit inside Keith. Keith growled and bounced a little on Lance’s hand.

“Foreplay after,” Keith said. “Gimme your fucking cock.”

“Language,” Lance said grinning, then frowned. “Oh god, are we old now? Does this mean we’re old, since I’m telling you to mind your language? Only old people do that. Fuck, I’m in the same party as Matt and Lana now. Of fuck now I’m thinking about my sister in bed, fuck—”

Keith kissed him quiet and pumped down into Lance’s fingers. He held Lance’s hand to stay in his ass and grabbed Lance by the head, to prevent him from getting away from the kiss. After a moment he took his hand from around Lance’s head and dropped it to his dick, pumping it firmly until Lance was putty again below him.

“You on board again?” Keith asked.

“Ahoy matey,” Lance said, and Keith was so mad at himself when he laughed at Lance’s joke. Lance grinned and opened one eye, then took out his fingers and grabbed Keith’s hips, positioning him home. “You ready?”

“Just fuck me,” Keith said, grabbing Lance’s cock and sliding onto it, and that was a home run.

Keith leaned back and rode Lance, gripping the bedsheets with one hand and Lance’s knee with the other. Lance held onto his hips and dug his fingernails into the skin, leaving crescent indents. He dragged his fingers across his pelvis to his thighs, creating slightly stinging red marks. Keith dipped his head back and moaned.

The chemistry with Lance never stopped. Where Keith pushed Lance pulled and when Keith wanted more Lance always gave it to him, eagerly.

Lance surged up, newly energized. He shoved Keith up against the back of the daybed and mouthed at his neck, sucking marks into the skin. Lance and he clung to the poles, hanging onto them in whatever way that would give them the best stability.

Keith hung on, barely, while Lance boxed him in and thrust harder, faster. Keith bounced against the bed, felt the wood of the bed poke into his back uncomfortably, but Lance’s cock was hot and tight in his ass and he could barely keep his head up.

He let his head rest against the headboard, listening to Lance’s labored breaths getting faster and faster in his ear. “Keith tell me, tell me what—” Lance panted, and fucked into him, _hard,_ and Keith squeezed his thighs in response, rubbing skin against skin, accumulating sweat and heat and lust while he kept up the pace.

“I thought about this all the time,” Keith gasped into his ear. Lance shivered in response and Keith rolled his hips roughly into him, dictating some of the pace and taking more control back. “I thought about how much I missed your cock in me, that fat, Cuban cigar—” Lance chuckled and moaned and Keith rolled his hips up, “—those long nights on the road, all alone, and all I fucking wanted was this, you fucking me in our goddamn bed.”

Lance pressed a hard kiss to his cheek and made his way over, roughly kissing and sucking Keith’s lips between his own. Keith fattened his tongue and swiped it behind his front teeth and thrust it into Lance’s mouth for awhile, to go along with their pace.

Lance bit his lip and then looked him in the eye. Keith grinned and pushed Lance down, back on the bed. Keith turned around and he felt Lance grab him from behind, firmly but carefully bringing Keith’s back to meet Lance’s chest. Lance led his dick back into Keith and Keith used his elbows to raise him above Lance a little, letting him set a brutal pace, thrusting into him from behind fast, hard and Keith still wanted more while he rested his head against Lance’s shoulder.

Lance was fucking into him balls deep but Keith could still remember the nights after a long day of riding, sitting in a hotel room and having nothing but his own fingers to remind him of what they had, nothing but a fraction of what he and Lance created when they were together like this.

He told Lance this while Lance held onto him from behind, whispering and moaning all the stories he had about coming in the shower, on strange hotel beds, in his fucking car, thinking about _this_ , remembering _this,_ wanting _this._

Lance bit his shoulder tendon lightly, “Keith, Keith, Keith—” only able to stutter out his name. Keith was the one who talked now, deep and low, and he didn’t even need to touch himself to feel everything he needed to feel.

Keith squeezed his ass tighter and Lance thrust up, thrust so hard it threw Keith off the bed. Lance was crawling over him in seconds though, grabbing a pillow from the bed and shoving it under Keith’s hips. He licked the shell of Keith’s ear and went right back inside him, rocking his hips into Keith and Keith laughed, leaned back and kissed Lance, kissed him until he couldn’t breathe.

“Lance make me come, make me come—” Keith said and Lance leaned down again and licked his shoulder, his back and bit again, harder now. Keith moaned and rolled his hips back and they were so close, again, now, here, together—

“Keith, can I, can I come in you, god Keith please, please let me—” Keith nodded and thrust back again and Lance shifted up on his knees more, giving them both a better angle, sharper and deeper and Keith threw his head forward and panted into the rug.

“Now—Lance, come!” Keith shouted and Lance shoved himself in deep, shuddering and shouting, holding Keith as he came hard into his ass. Keith panted and felt the hot cum fill him up, and before he could even remember how to inhale Lance’s hand was on him, coated in extra lube and jacking him off, hot and rough and he twisted his palm over the tip just like that—

Keith came, falling onto the floor, cheek becoming imprinted with the rug’s paisley design. He gasped into the carpet and Lance gripped his arm loosely, shakily. He pressed kisses all along his upper arm and shoulder while Keith caught his breath again.

Keith turned his head slowly to look at Lance.

Sweat covered his neck and chest, the temples, and his hair was a mess. His face was still red and his lips were swollen from kissing, and Keith smiled when Lance pressed another kiss to his bicep, watching him with clear blue eyes.

“Always like that huh?” Lance asked. Keith laughed.

“Yeah,” he said, running his fingers through his hair, messing it up even more. “Always.”

Lance pulled out of him slowly and they both sighed at the separation. Lance flopped down beside him, grabbing Keith’s hand and holding it to his chest.

“Well at least Hunk can’t complain,” Lance chuckled, still slightly out of breath. “Since you’re his fucking landlord now.”

Keith turned to look at him, confusion written over his face. “Huh? Landlord?”

Lance shot the same look back at him. “Yeah. You know, since this is your place now.”

“Lance,” Keith said slowly, like he was speaking to a child. “This has always been my place, but Shiro kind of owns it. Has for about three years? You were there.”

“You mean Shiro never told you?” Lance asked, eyes wide.

Keith frowned. “I mean I know he’s staying with Allura, and that you’ve been chilling here with Hunk now that his house was finally sold.”

“Yeah but like, you know what’s going on right? I mean, didn’t you have to sign paperwork or something?”

Keith looked at him incredulously. “Huh?”

Lance sighed and beat his head against the pillow. “Why do I have to be the communication tube between you guys? You two are _so bad_ at this shit, fuck me.”

“Can you just tell me what’s going on?” Keith asked, slamming a pillow over Lance’s face. “Fucking drama queen.”

Lance sat up, irritated and pouting. His hair was all over the place and Keith stopped himself from smoothing it out, because they were _discussing things_ dammit, and that required attention.

“Shiro’s transferring the house to you,” Lance said bluntly.

“Fucking, _what_?” Keith asked after a moment of taking that bombshell in.

Lance moved his hands, illustrating and gesturing the situation. “Shiro is marrying Allura. Allura has a bigger house. Shiro will move in with Allura into that bigger house and help her pay off her mortgage. That leaves this house empty, but still owned by Shiro, who does not need two houses on a counselor’s salary.” Lance gripped Keith’s chin between his fingers tugging him forward and staring into his eyes firmly.

“Ergo, that leaves this house unoccupied. I’m still getting my pilot’s license and Hunk doesn’t want to move into the city so we’re staying here, and clearly this is your home so you stay here too, and since you Shiro’s de facto relative or whatever—” Lance sighed and flipped out his hands, waggling his fingers in a mock fanfare. “—You get to take over the loan and keep the house. Tada!”

Keith couldn’t quite catch up to what was going on, so he just sat there, still covered in his own spunk.

“And Hunk and I will pay rent or whatever so like, don’t freak out about the financial shit I guess.” Lance put his chin in his hand and tilted his head at Keith. “Everything peachy?”

“Um,” said Keith, feeling a little pale. Own the house? Pay a mortgage? He was like, only 22? “Sure. Yeah. Fine.”

“You’re so freaking out right now,” Lance whispered, mostly to himself while he continued to flick his gaze over Keith’s face. Keith wasn’t sure he was still breathing really.

“No, okay,” Keith said, relaxing a little when Lance began to stroke his hair. “I just. Own a fucking house now. Even though I spend half my time out of the country. Cool. Whatever. I’ll just. Keep doing that then.”

“Keep owning a house?” Lance clarified, grinning when Keith glared at him.

“Keep...doing what I’m doing.”

“Oh, then me?”

Keith threw the pillow at his face again, but it didn’t stop Lance from laughing, and it didn’t prevent either of them from curling up on the day bed, Keith spooning Lance from behind like a jetpack, and falling asleep as easily as if they did this every night.

 

* * *

 

Another moving truck was in the driveway. But it wasn’t his own, or Allura’s this time. It was Hunk’s, and Shiro waited again on the opposing sidewalk, eerily similar to something that had happened just a few years ago.

He sipped his coffee as he waited for the new neighbor to show themselves. He sincerely wished Hunk’s parents the best on their official and permanent move to the Philippines. Hunk had gone for a visit about a year ago and had a feeling all along it was the right path for them, and sure enough he’d been right.

The market was on the rise and the neighborhood was in a much better place than it had been when Shiro bought his place, or now uh, Keith’s place. Oh shit, he thought as he took a larger-than-he-meant-to gulp of coffee, he’d still forgotten to tell him that.

Whatever, he thought next, shrugging and tapping his house shoes on the cement. Allura hated when he used the inside shoes outside, but he still had no fucking idea why that was a thing. They were shoes, where did it matter where they were worn?

Ah, adjustments, he thought contentedly, when what was formerly Hunk’s front door opened. Shiro put down his coffee on the sidewalk and walked over, hands in his pockets and taking his time. He didn’t expect some wild event like last time, when he’d had his heart stolen right from his chest at the mere sight of Allura. Love at first sight was a thing, he still told Keith as he rolled his eyes, and all the non-believers could shove it.

But he did have higher expectations that the new neighbor would be someone they could all come to be friends with. After all, Shiro thought, smiling to himself, it was the nature of living here, in this neighborhood.

Shiro headed across the court and frowned slightly when the new neighbor, a short, thin man, startled and hid behind the moving van.

“Um, hi,” called Shiro, keeping off the property just by a foot or so, then slowly walking around the van to where the guy had disappeared to. “I’m Shiro? Your new neighbor. Just wanted to introduce myself and see if you need any—” Shiro stopped when the man’s face blinked owlishly at him from inches away.

Shiro backed up, jerking his head away, but the guy just kind of _followed_ him.

“Do you know what the probability is that you are actually a psychopathic murderer out to kill me in pursuit of an unnatural adrenal high occurring when blood is spilled by your own hands?” asked the man, and Shiro didn’t know _what the fuck_ was even happening.

“Um, no?” he said, concerned. For himself or the guy? Not sure yet.

“It becomes 237 percent more likely when your body language appears distant yet tense, much like you were standing on the edge of my driveway!” he shouted, then took a step back and plastered himself against the back of the van. “Not to mention the probability goes up even further if you are a young, single male between the ages of 22 and 35. How old are you?!” he screamed at Shiro.

Shiro swallowed and promptly started freaking out. “I’m 28?”

“Are you here to kill me?!” the man asked and Shiro was ready to run back to the safety of his own house when Allura called him from the other side of the street.

“Shiro? Is everything alright?” she asked.

Before Shiro could respond the man in front of him deflated and chuckled in relief.

“Oh,” he sighed, “the chances go down much lower to only 7 percent if you are in a committed relationship,” he said, nodding to Allura and crossing his arms over his chest. “And I see that woman and you are having illicit premarital relations, yes that is clear.”

Shiro spluttered. “Illicit—we’re engaged!”

“Still premarital I see. You two have a 36 percent chance of ending up in a fiery chasm hell-like universe should you be in a dimension where an angry monotheistic God has rights over soul dispersal. But the likelihood of that in _this_ dimension go down infinitely more since here gods are only cultural and social fixations used by people to create a reality they can make sense of.”

Shiro fucking hated this guy.

“Who are you again?”

“Oh,” said the man, nodding and putting his hands behind his back. “I never introduced myself to you in this universe.” The man stopped talking, and Shiro waited expectantly.

“Um, _yes_?” Shiro asked, feeling more and more unhinged as the seconds ticked by.

“Oh,” the man said, as if just realizing Shiro had been expecting a _sane_ answer the whole time. “My name is Slav. I’m the new math teacher at Vista High School, pleasure to meet you.” Where Shiro and Allura worked. _Fuck._

Slav looked down at Shiro’s hands and made a strange face. “Forgive me that I do not shake your hand, but it appears to me that it is highly likely that you do not wash your hands after you go to the bathroom, give the slight asymmetry of your ears and the way you stand with your feet tilted to the right.”

Slav smiled. “Thanks for welcoming me to the neighborhood!” he said, spreading his arms wide and smiling and waving at Allura. He bypassed Shiro, crossing over the court to greet her, and Shiro watched as his back retreated and moved toward his own home and sanctuary.

Fucking, shit.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Roll Credits](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=crWSG6liT5Y)
> 
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> SLAV. (Also on a super unrelated note: imma def go back and fix that porn scene. It's not what I wanted entirely but I promised the epilogue with the last chapter and I GIVE MY POSSE WHAT I PROMISE.)
> 
> And that’s a wrap! Thank you infinitely for joining me on this journey. I literally started writing this after being weirdly inspired by watching a Youtube Most Popular Girls in School voiceover dub for Voltron, where it had Lance saying the line about blowing a guy and coming out of the closet. Just. Look it up.
> 
> I didn’t actually think I’d write and complete a fucking story about it, much less one in like, a fucking month? Goddamn?
> 
> All of your comments did it, seriously. Without them I’d’ve just quit or let this taper off. So even if you only enjoyed it a little bit, or just laughed a couple times, or teared up maybe, just know that truly your partaking in this with me has made this experience for me a seriously positive one.
> 
> Go out into your lives and live them as these guys do. Adventurously, obliviously, lovingly, and most of all, persistently.
> 
> Thank you. <3
> 
> (psssssttt! Come say hi on tumblr—I'm new!): [Yoohoo](https://aceofspeight.tumblr.com/)


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